


What Else Would You Have Me Be?

by jendavis



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 73,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some jobs changed the team for the better. Some, for the worse, and San Lorenzo hadn't been the first kind. But maybe it hadn't been the second, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted, due to accidental deletion of the entire thing while I was trying to edit the epilogue. Doh! Thanks for reading!

Dark spots clouded Alec's vision as he looked away from the screen and felt blindly for the phone.

"Nate?" His eyelids were more sandpaper than skin, but he tried to read the time off the corner of the screen through suddenly watering eyes. "What time is it?"

"Hey, Hardison. Ah. Just past seven. In the evening," Nate replied dryly, pushing Alec's awareness of his sore back and empty stomach to the forefront of his attention.

He'd been at it for eleven hours straight, then. That explained a lot.

"I just got back into town, wanted to check in, see if you'd gotten a chance to look into the case yet. Do you have enough to call everyone in tonight?" Nate was obviously trying hard not to press, and wanting very much to do just that. When Alec didn't respond, he continued. "I guess it's short notice. That's cool. It'll keep for a few days."

Alec wished he had a phone like Nana's, heavy plastic and metal that wouldn't break when he slammed the receiver down into the cradle. He needed to _sleep_ , he needed time to _think_. But Nate sounded _wired_ , and his enthusiasm was apparently _just_ contagious enough to push Alec too his feet.

 _Nothing's changed, everything's fine, we're all the same people we were last month_.

"Nah, man, let's do this," he stood, banishing the exhaustion from his voice, and glanced again at the computer, doing a quick inventory and surprising himself. "I've got all the high points and then some. Got enough that we could do a fair amount of damage from _here_."

Nate snorted, then paused. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I can be there in twenty to set up." Rolling his shoulders, he caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror and wondered it was such a good idea.

But if he didn't go, all today's work would've been for nothing, and nothing would change. He needed a shower first, though. "Make that half an hour," he amended. "And order in some Chinese."

\---

Alec kept his head down as he plugged his computer in and brought up the relevant files. Over on the couch, Sophie was cooing over something small and shiny that Parker was showing her. Eliot was in the kitchen, examining the takeout with a suspicious glare and evidently deciding against it. Nate waited for Alec's nod, and began.

"Alright, so I know it's been a few weeks, and I'm sure you're all a bit rusty." Sophie looked back balefully and handed what looked to be the Dresden Green diamond back to Parker. "But I'm sure you'll all rise to the occasion for this bastard."

Absently wondering if he needed to go look for recent gaps in the Smithsonian's collection, Alec brought up the first batch of files, and four pictures of the same man appeared across the screens.

He was fifty-two years old and probably hadn't stopped scowling for thirty of them. Heavy-set and clean-shaven, he kept his graying hair in a short military style that Eliot probably would've thought distinctive before _not_ explaining why. The frown alone would've been enough to make anyone _want_ to take the guy out.

"Who's he?" Parker cocked her head, frowning back at him, and finally, it was Alec's turn to be _on_. Never mind the fact that Eliot was barely watching from the kitchen.

"Sheriff John Arlington, of Maricopa County, Arizona," Alec began, keeping his eyes the screen. "He's got the reputation as being the most badass sheriff in the country. Among countless other cases of being the most evil bastard in the state, he heads up the county jail. Now. Keep in mind, I said _jail_."

He clicked ahead to the next series of images, all of the main building, he went on. "He doesn't just run the jail like a _prison_ , he runs it like a prison in a country that also happens to be a third world fascist _dictatorship_." He clicked to the next slide, this time, an aerial shot of the grounds.

"Alright," Nate squinted, asking the question for the benefit of the others. "What're we looking at, here?"

"An entire city of 'em, patrolled from the outside by armed guards. Oh, and I should mention again, it's part of the _jail_." He pointed out the roof of main building again. "If Gitmo is the Hilton, this is the dodgy motor lodge out back behind the boarded-up truck stop. See here, they've got tents set up, and all this surrounding it is razor wire, and if you look close, _here_ and here," he pointed, "Those are the security patrols around the outside."

Eliot seemed to be paying attention now, watching through his hair as he poured himself some coffee. Alec continued.

"Now, the most dangerous inmates are kept in the building itself, higher security and all that, but they're getting off easily. Most of the inmates are housed in the tents in an area where temperatures range from about a hundred and ten in the summer to forty in winter. When they're not out working the chain gangs- which I did not know still existed- they're regularly and deliberately humiliated as part of their rehabilitation."

"I don't think their philosophy goes in for rehabilitation," Nate corrected him. "They're a bit more into the punishment side of things."

"And that's fair enough. But it's a jail, not a prison, and this is where I point out that about a third of the inmates have yet to be convicted. Of _anything._ "

"It looks like a concentration camp," Sophie gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. "Is that legal?"

"The court's still out on that- literally," Alec said, clicking ahead. "And Arlington's got enough lawyers and judges in his pocket to keep it that way for the next five centuries or so. But human rights violations are not why we're going after him, at least not directly."

He waved his hand at the next few slides, bringing up file names of various court actions. "He's under investigation for everything under the sun. Misuse of funds, abuse of prisoners, dodgy campaign donations, all sorts of fun. There are a ton of lawsuits pending against the guy, but he's still in office until the next election, and that's two years away. In the meantime, he's using some of his misappropriated funds- which so far could be as high as twelve million over the past ten years- to investigate political rivals," he gestured to Nate, handing him the floor as he clicked to a booking photo. "Which brings us to our client."

"Ah, yeah. Jeanine Santiago has been a model employee in the Maricopa County Sheriff's Department for fifteen years now, but she made one mistake," Nate began, taking over the briefing. "She decided to run for Sheriff."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alec watched Eliot finally sit down next to Sophie, looking skeptical. "Nate, man. Rigging elections? You sure this is our sort of thing?"

"They are when someone's being framed for a crime she didn't commit, by people who have access to manipulate all the evidence."

"What are they saying she did, and what do we have that can fix it?" Sophie leaned forward to better examine Santiago's picture. "And for that matter, how did you find her?"

"I met yesterday with a woman named Sally Branson, who's been writing a truly astounding number of letters on Santiago's behalf, trying to clear her name. Arlington's lawyers have it sewn up that she won't be able to testify during the trial, though, and most of the mainstream press down there doesn't want to hear from her. Anyhow, ah. I'm getting ahead of myself." He sipped his drink and cleared his throat.

"Back in April, Branson was still finishing her sentence when there was a riot in the main building. Two inmates died, one from being crushed up against a wall in the main building, and one out in the camp, who was stabbed. I'm guessing you can see where this is going. Branson swears that Santiago had pulled the knife out so she could do something about the bleeding, trying to keep pressure on until the medics arrived, but…"

"Arlington and his cronies are saying _she_ stabbed him," Parker finished. The gleam in her eye was creepily joyous enough that Alec was taken aback. They hadn't talked much since she'd explained that she'd lost her taste for pretzels before taking off on an inter-state burglary spree two weeks back. Alec had thought for a while, now, that maybe it had been for the best, but now he was starting to believe it. He wished she'd stop making stabbing motions so happily.

Eliot cut his disgusted glare from Parker back to Nate, and Alec stopped holding his breath when it remained focused, when it didn't shift his way. "How do you want to hit Arlington?"

Eliot hadn't actually looked at him head on all night, and Alec wished he wasn't feeling so relieved about it. But Nate, at least, was carrying on like just a few weeks hadn't changed _everything_.

"Well, he's bold, and won't back down when challenged. He's confident and has a lot of allies, especially in the right-wing camps. But it's politics, and he knows it. He'll have a healthy suspicious streak. It'll take a longer con, and obviously, he's not going to be winning any more elections when we're through with him, but no. That's not enough. I want him behind bars when we're done with him. Best way to do that is to rope him in, run him for a while, and make sure he's caught out with his pants down so egregiously that even his most die hard supporters would slam the door in his face."

"So how to we do that?"

Nate looked startled at the question, and blinked. "I'm thinking, we need a dead priest."

\---

It was nearly midnight when the meeting breaking up. Alec had been doing a fairly good job of playing cool, but Sophie had figured out that something was definitely up. She'd held out longer than he would've guessed, though, but she'd merely been biding her time.

Waiting until the others were heading back into the kitchen gathering their things and dumping dirty dishes in the sink, she stepped close, ostensibly to hand back the printouts he'd made of the arrest reports.

"Did you sleep at all?" She smiled gently, almost apologetically. "I mean. Not that you're normally, well, you know, _light_ on content, but _this_." Her smile found a bit more humor. "Nate said he only talked to Miss Branson last _night_."

"What can I say?" Alec shrugged. As long as he didn't grimace or grin, he wasn't admitting to anything. "I was on a roll. Lost track of time."

"Yes, well. There are rolls, and there are _rolls_." Glancing up to make sure the others sere still busy in the kitchen, she leaned in, her eyes darting in Parker's direction as she crossed towards the door. "I know that things have been… off, lately, and tonight's just proved that it'll take some time to find our feet again. But if something's bothering you, you _can_ tell me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Alec assured her, having absolutely no intention of taking her up on her offer. It wasn't that she was the last person he trusted to hear it. It was that she was probably the only one he _did_ trust, this week, and he still remembered their first office. He knew how well trusting _Sophie_ went.

He slid the laptop into his shoulder bag and grinned. "It's cool. I just wasn't in the mood for video games, I guess."

He wasn't lying. Not entirely.

\---

_There were still several hours before Nate was due to check in to fill him in on how the client meeting went, and Alec had nothing to do until he had the first details. Armed with a bottle of soda and a bag of popcorn, he logged in to Warcraft._

_He was only five or ten minutes in when the heuristic crawlers he had running on JARVIS suddenly sent up four red flags and bounced them to his phone. Switching over to the other computer, they looked like the results of a glitch._

_But he'd learned to be paranoid enough to do his job, and he dug for a while. Eventually, he found the source of the warning._

_Four domestic flights to Boston had been booked on four different airlines, all within the past half hour. Four identities with clean criminal histories, none of which had any addresses or other information dating back more than five years. Shallow credit histories on each of the four names, and no connection between the four that he could find._

_Individually, the identities were brilliant, even perfect. Taken as a whole, though, they were obviously a batch job, done by someone who didn't have half the skills that Alec himself had. He went through the usual sources and databanks, and after less than fifteen minutes, he found proof._

_They were not nearly as perfect as they'd looked a moment ago. All four of them were based off birth certificates of children who'd died before they'd reached a week old._

_After double and triple checking, it didn't take long to tie the names to outstanding felony warrants in three states and two extradition countries, but that wasn't the point._

_The point was that they'd all used the same identity clearinghouse. The same clearinghouse Moreau's European business partners tended to use. And there had to be a reason for that._

_For three hours, he went over every job they'd done in the past year, every single near-lead they'd had on Moreau that hadn't panned out, every move they'd made, meant to make, and everything he could randomly guess at, and still, he came up with nothing._

_None of it was making any sense at all, until he went back to the original data, and realized that it had been staring him in the face the entire time. He went back to the birth certificates, and he found it. Bethesda General Hospital, in Washington DC._

_He'd been trying not to think about DC for weeks, now, and apparently that had been a mistake._

_DC had been insane._

_Eliot had worked for Moreau. Hadn't told anyone until he'd been so far caught out that he hadn't had a choice. And as much as Alec understood that he'd been trying to protect the team, that he'd thought he'd been doing his job…_

_If it hadn't been for the fact that he'd noticed the steady stream of small bubbles coming out from the chair's support, if he hadn't managed to swivel around and get a decent seal on the gap, he would have drowned._

_In retrospect, it was easy to predict what Moreau's most obvious choice for attack would have been. Alec had been cuffed to a chair, with wheels, on the edge of the deep end of the pool. It didn't take a genius to figure it out. But he'd been distracted by the guns. By the time the kick came, he'd been too startled to take a deep breath before hitting the water._

_He hadn't seen it coming, because he'd been with Eliot. And Eliot was good at his job. Alec had trusted him._

_Afterwards, in the park, he'd decided to move on, to forget about the panic that had set in when he was in the water. By the time he'd been dry again he'd even managed to acknowledge that Eliot's reasoning had been sound, given the circumstances. They'd had bigger fish to fry, anyhow._

_The next day, they'd faked a man's death, gotten the details on the location of the world's largest EMP bomb, and discovered that they'd been screwed, it wasn't where Moreau had said it would be. The warehouse had been empty._

_It had taken some doing, but Alec had managed to get a fix on the location. He'd wound up deactivating the bomb. On a train. After jumping onto the train from a bridge._

_That part was still fairly awesome, in retrospect._

_Eliot and Nate had nearly taken out Moreau before he'd slipped away, and by the time he arrived with Sophie and Parker to find a recently rescued double agent being loaded into the ambulance, he'd been exhausted. They'd been on a flight to San Lorenzo thirty-six hours later. And they'd finished the job._

_When it had been all said and done, he'd run his usual cleanup, checking police logs and security reports to make sure their activity hadn't been recorded, or that some detective somewhere wasn't nosing around their jobs, and he'd found nothing he hadn't been expecting. When Nate gave him the list of buildings that needed their security footage erased, he'd found nothing unusual._

_It didn't matter that it only took three hours in front of his computer to stop the four strangers coming their way. What mattered was that he had to do it in the first place. Because he'd missed something._

_After going over all his files two more times, Alec decided to look again in the morning with fresh eyes. His brain, though, wouldn't power down enough to sleep for more than half an hour at a time._

_At some point, far too early in the morning to even be thinking about standing, he dragged himself out of bed. Pouring himself some coffee, he sat down in front of his computer and, out of habit, opened his news feeds. He wasn't really reading them when the idea hit him._

_He headed over to the Washington Post's website, entered the date range, and began browsing through sports scores, news, accidents, and incidents. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary._

_He almost missed it. Barely two paragraphs long, and buried in the news briefs. South side. Warehouse. Improperly stored had ignited and burned the warehouse to the ground, despite having cleared a safety inspection just four days prior. No injuries. No leads. No suspicion of arson._

_With a knot coiling in his gut, Alec pulled up the text messages from JARVIS's auto-compiler and found what he'd been missing. The auction location's address matched the warehouse in the article._

_Nate and Eliot, they'd been there._

_Something much bigger than finding it empty had gone down._

_And they were keeping secrets._

_It was almost a relief when Nate's call came, just after eight in the morning. He'd found a new client, and there was a hell of a lot of research that needed to be done before the team could be briefed._

_The distraction was what Alec needed. He was too angry to think clearly, too furious to sleep, and a dirty sheriff in Arizona was as good a scapegoat as anyone._

_And if this was going to be his last job with the team, Alec wasn't going to half-ass it._


	2. Chapter 2

Eliot eyed the takeout skeptically for a moment before deciding against it, but joining the others wasn't as appealing as it had been when he'd gotten Nate's call.

Everything had shifted since San Lorenzo. Sophie and Nate were the most obvious. They'd stopped dancing around each other, sure, but they weren't making a big thing of it, yet. Hardison and Parker he couldn't quite get a fix on. Hardison wasn't flirting with her the way he'd done a month ago, and she was being quieter than usual. Whether it was because things between had gone badly, or because things were going very well, it was impossible to tell.

And it really should've been beside the point. But Eliot wasn't sure he wanted to go over and hang with the happy couples.

During the briefing, he could feel Hardison's eyes on him, sometimes watching him with a look of confusion on his face, but Eliot was careful to keep his eyes on the screen. The job was going to be an interesting one. But he had no idea at all where the dead priest came in.

Afterwards, he considered hanging back, wanting to talk to Nate, but Parker had left, and though Sophie was helping Hardison pack up, she hadn't yet moved for her coat. She wasn't leaving, then, and Eliot didn't need either of them hearing what he had to say.

It could wait.

\---

Mrs. Barnaby was passing by, walking her retriever when he drove up. He waved hello as he got out of the truck, using the opportunity to stop and make small talk to scope the street for anything unusual. As she wandered off, he began checking the garden.

None of the motion detectors looked as if they'd been tampered with, but the frost was killing the rose bushes. He was going to need to plant another row of cover along the western fence very soon. Circling around to the back, he confirmed that everything was in order before going inside.

Deactivating the alarm, he ignored the disappointment.

Usually, in between jobs, he could count on Parker to break in out of boredom, either to prove to him that the upgrades Hardison was always suggesting were probably needed, or to cadge dinner. But she hadn't been by in months.

Then again, she was probably spending all of her time with Hardison, anyway.

He wondered what they ate, when they were together. Probably better not to think about it. They probably weren't spending much time at the dinner table, anyway.

Hell, Hardison didn't even _have_ a table. He had _desks_ , scattered all over his apartment, and electronic equipment scattered over every available surface.

 _Whatever. Stupid thing to think about_.

Still, though. It had been strange, quiet. None of Parker's burglaries, and none of Hardison's messages demanding that he stop for beer on his way over to catch the game, either.

Of course, Hardison was _terrified_ of him now, so that explained a hell of a lot.

He hadn't needed to go in, tonight, to know just how much they'd been faking it, that last job. They'd gotten by fine, hell, they'd gotten rid of _Moreau_ , but things were a little bit broken.

It was going to take a while. And at least they'd called him in. Halfway through the second week, he'd started wondering if they'd gone off on a job without him. It wasn't like he'd gone out to drive past Nate's place, just to see if his car was still there. It had only been a block or so out of his way, coming back from the Mediterranean foods importer down the block.

But it _had_ been a long few weeks, and this job? Looked like it would take even longer.

\---

 _He wasn't too far away from the Khyber Pass, but beyond that, Eliot didn't know much._

 _At first, he'd kept track of the days by counting meals, but the gash on his arm had gotten infected and he'd lost track of time. Even when he'd regained awareness of his surroundings, of the sunlight that never reached this far back into the cave, never mind the bars of his cell, when he could see the shadows of the scrub brush changing as the days wore on, the weeks had a way of running together._

 _He didn't know how long he'd been held prisoner, the morning of the explosion; he only thought that the cavalry had finally arrived. He curled up at the back of his cell, making himself as small as possible, but even so, the bullets ricocheted off the stone walls and sent up clouds of dust that were impossible to see through, but when the smoke finally cleared, his captors were all lying on the ground and there were men heading his direction._

 _He didn't recognize any of them, but there was one man, grinning more easily than the others, confident as he stepped up to Eliot's cell._

 _"What's your name?" His accent was unfamiliar, but friendly. He wasn't military. Maybe a Company man, but Eliot had already been out of the game in months. His name wasn't going to get him anywhere with him, but it wasn't going to get him killed, either._

 _"Spencer. Eliot Spencer." Brushing the dust off his face, he stood to examine him more closely. Sharp, piercing eyes that never strayed from where he wanted them. "Who are you?"_

 _"My name is Damian Moreau, and if you're not friends of these… gentlemen," Moreau began, absently kicking at the body of one of Eliot's guards, "then perhaps you can arrange to become a friend of mine. No strings, of course, it's entirely up to you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, which he slipped into the pocket of Eliot's shirt._

 _Not the cavalry, then, Eliot realized, but other options were a little thin on the ground. "If you got the keys to this thing, I'm game to talk," he agreed._

 _"Wonderful." Moreau nodded to a red-haired man he called Chapman, who'd been going through the pockets of the fallen men and who now stepped forward with a handful of key rings._

 _A few moments later, Eliot's cell was opened, and stepped out of his cage for the first time in weeks, maybe months._

 _"Hey, what's today's date?"_

 _"April the twenty third," Moreau confirmed, grinning at Eliot's expression, which suddenly felt frozen. He'd been locked down for eight months, almost nine, and if it weren't for the vertigo, he would've asked the year, just to be sure._

 _At Moreau's nod, Chapman unlocked the door and stepped aside. "Come with me, Mr. Spencer. We've got a long drive, and civilization awaits."_

 _\---_

 _That evening, Eliot was torn between getting some sleep and the city outside his window._

 _Explaining apologetically that he had business to attend to, Moreau had arranged for a night's lodging, a change of clothing, enough toiletries to make himself look twice as human as he felt, and a handful of currency. He was free to leave whenever he wanted, and Peshawar, where Eliot had once been stationed for one hellish year, had never looked so appealing._

 _Once outside, however, Eliot only managed one circuit through Mattani Market before the rattling cough that he'd been dodging for weeks rose up and reasserted itself. Besides, it was too open out on the streets, with too many blind corners._

 _Eliot was asleep- in an actual bed, with blankets and pillows and clean sheets- before the last rays of sunset had faded into night._

 _\---_

 _The next morning, Chapman arrived to take him to the embassy._

 _Eliot should've known how long eight months really was when he noticed him waiting with the engine running, but he went inside, and discovered several things._

 _He'd been declared killed in action seven months ago, along with half of his team. The other half was standing trial in Sweden, the general included. Of course the embassy was eager to straighten out this entire mess. All he needed to do was wait for the attorneys to show up to clear him. A short stop by the trial, which would undoubtedly help clear everything up, and then he'd be on his way home._

 _No problem._

 _Eight months out of the game hadn't been enough to turn him into an idiot. Eliot was back outside the moment the agent's back was turned, Moreau's card in hand as he searched the street for a phone, but he didn't need either of them._

 _The black car hadn't moved, and Chapman was leaning against the door. "Offer's still open," he said, and moved around to the driver's seat. "Moreau's waiting to fill you in on the details, and he doesn't like to wait for long. You really ought to do something about that cough."_

 _Eliot closed his eyes for a moment before getting in the car, and took stock as Chapman drove._

 _He'd been out of the game for too long. He'd been locked down for eight months, and no rescue had come. He had no resources of his own, and was too sick, tired and weak to find any. He was starting from zero with nothing to lose._

 _By the time Moreau was sitting across the table and making promises that Eliot didn't honestly expect to be kept, it was all too easy to say yes._

 _The bitterness hadn't even had time to set in yet- that would come later. The time he'd lost, the people who'd screwed him over, and the deal he'd had to make, none of it bothered him yet._

 _Once he'd grown healthy again, though, he'd reveled in it._

 _It was what had made him the sharpest weapon Moreau had ever used._

\---

Nate still refused to book them all separate flights, which would've been safer, but at least he'd instructed Hardison to scatter them throughout the plane. Hardison had put him up in first class, this time around, which would give him a chance to get out and scope the Phoenix airport before the others got off the plane, but it meant he boarded first.

He watched as the others filtered past. Sophie, some businessmen and then Hardison came on next; they were seated at the back of the plane. Nate boarded a while later, moving so awkwardly down the aisle that Eliot honestly thought that he'd gotten the strap from his carry on stuck around the arm of Eliot's seat by accident. Nate, however, was using it as an opportunity to slip a note in between the SkyMall catalog and the airsickness bag.

Parker, it turned out, was sitting in the front row of coach, and Eliot could feel her staring at the back of his head until she became riveted instead by the safety demonstration, the way she always did. It wasn't as if she'd never flown before, or even _given_ the presentation before, but maybe- hopefully- she was looking for pointers. The sooner she figured out that discussing the burning temperature of jet fuel did little to set the average passenger's mind at ease.

Eliot knew it was strange to be relieved about, but routine insanity was still _routine_.

It kind of felt like nothing was different. Like maybe there was hope.

Then he remembered the note that Nate had passed him, and, waiting for the middle-aged woman next to him to become engrossed in her novel, he opened it.

\---

 _Heads up. Hardison's pissed._

 _Long story short, someone had gotten a crew together, gotten all their IDs built from the same documentation at the same hospital. He's cleared the threat, no worries, but along the way, he found out about the warehouse. He cornered me this morning and told me that this is his last job. If we're going to have any chance in changing his mind, react carefully when you hear it from him.  
_

\---

There had been half an hour, back in between the pool and the park, where Eliot could've explained himself, but Hardison had been too freaked and furious to even look at him. To get him talking would've meant listening to him come out and say, " _I don't trust you. Get the fuck off my team_." And that had been _before_ the warehouse.

By the time they'd put Moreau away, by the time they'd finally been in the clear, he'd thought that maybe they'd moved on. He'd thought Hardison had gotten over it, and maybe he had. But he hadn't discovered what Eliot had done, yet. _That_ had to have come much more recently.

He shook his head when the stewardess asked him what he wanted to drink, and tried to plan what he'd say when it all came out. He was coming up blank.

What he'd told them should've been enough. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd been protecting them, not only from Moreau, but to what Eliot had been planning to _do_ to Moreau if he'd caught up to him first.

Luck hadn't played out that way.

Instead of killing just Moreau, he'd wound up having to kill a dozen men. Instead of telling Hardison- telling the _team_ \- he'd informed Nate that nobody needed to know. Instead of hearing that he'd been kicked off the team, he was hearing that _Hardison_ was going to leave.

None of this had turned out right, and things were about to get worse, Eliot was sure.

They hadn't even landed, yet.


	3. Chapter 3

It was going to be a longer job, which meant that there was more time for things to go wrong. On top of that, if something _did_ go wrong, they'd be in deep enough that getting out would be monumentally more complicated. The first week was spent laying the groundwork, everybody falling into their practiced roles.

Parker rode along with Eliot as they procured two safe houses on the opposite sides of town, each having fast access to at least one highway. She programmed the GPS as he drove along their primary and secondary routes to the airport.

This was Eliot's favorite part of the job, it was the most essential _part_ of his job, and the only one where he was really in control, where he wasn't reacting to outside threats, but planning for them.

Parker had started coming along a little over a year ago, mostly when Nate was looking to hand her off to someone else so he could focus on infiltrating the gaming commission. He'd been reluctant at first, but she'd quickly proven herself. She was useful, and it wasn't just because she was a second set of eyes, or could get them into any building they needed. While he looked for choke points and kill boxes, she was able to spot points of ingress that he never would've considered.

It was the only time they really worked well together, and he really shouldn't have been surprised that she was at her focused, then, her most sane. Her most quiet.

Most of the time, anyway.

\---

"So what's going on with you and Hardison?"

They'd just come off the Maricopa Freeway, through a construction slowdown zone that meant they'd need to head up towards Del Rey to find another way around, and it took Eliot a moment to switch gears.

He'd been expecting it to come up since the plane touched down, waiting for Sophie or Nate to pick their moment and press the issue. He'd rehearsed it in his head in the hotel room every night. He knew that Nate's concern would be the team's capability to function, while Sophie's would be _how_ they functioned. He was as prepared to go up against them as it was possible to get.

Hardison, he'd just planned on shouting back at him. Wasn't like that kid ever listened.

"Nothin', just…"

Parker wasn't supposed to give a damn, she wasn't supposed to _notice_ but then. She did have that thing going with Hardison, and Hardison wasn't the type to suffer quietly. Of course she knew something was up, if he hadn't spelled it out for her already.

"He still mad about the pool thing?"

"Yeah," Eliot said, because regardless of what Hardison had said in San Lorenzo, that was still part of it. He didn't know what to say next. If this was some kind of test Hardison had put her up to, she was probably looking for something specific.

Then again, maybe if Hardison heard it from her, first, it wouldn't go down so badly.

If there'd been the _slightest_ hint of doubt in her expression right then, he would've told her everything. Probably. Maybe He still had no idea how those two worked together when they weren't _working_ together, and honestly? He really didn't _want_ to.

But Parker snorted, rolling her eyes like something was funny.

"I _told_ him not to leave his lock picks back in the hotel room."

For two miles, Eliot waited for her to continue, but she said nothing more until they were approaching the knotted interchange onto Red Mountain. "You're going to want to be in the second lane from the right."

\---

  
The only reason they were able to work the job at all was because they all lied for a living. Insisting that things were okay, when they really weren't great, was just part of the game.

But it wasn't one of Alec's strong suits. They'd been here for two days already, laying the groundwork, and outside of meals and supply runs, he stuck to his hotel room.

It was easier not to walk out if he never made it past the door.

But that nearly went out the window when Nate stopped by.

It was late enough that Alec wasn't surprised to smell the whiskey on him, even with the priest's collar hanging out of the pocket of his jacket, but it the first time they'd been in the same room together, alone, since Alec had told him that he knew that he'd been holding back on the warehouse. Since the morning he'd quit.

Alec had seen him lose his cool, but that morning hadn't been one of those times. Nate had listened, and then he'd nodded. "After this job. Just promise me we'll talk, okay?"

The job wasn't done yet, but Nate was here anyway.

"What do you want?" Alec crossed his arms. He hadn't expected to fight on this just yet, but he was feeling adaptable.

"Just, ah. Look. You'll let me know, right? If there's anything I can do."

"Anything you can do?"

"Yeah. Ah. You know. To make things better. Get you to change your mind."

"You can tell me exactly what went down in that warehouse."

It wasn't the answer Nate had been hoping for, that much was obvious by the way he deflated. "I'm not sure that's for me to tell. And for that, I'm really sorry. But I'll get back to you. How's that?" Nate tried a smile that he clearly wasn't feeling, trying to cover for the fact that they both knew that this was Nate Ford, _begging_.

Alec didn't want to give in. This wasn't the solution, wasn't even the negotiation. It was just the penciling in of dates.

It didn't cost him nothing to agree, to see the relief so plainly in Nate's face as he nodded, then left.

In a few days, the job would kick into gear, and Nate would need him to be on the ball. They still had a job to do, and until it was done, Alec still had four people who needed his backup.

Regardless of anything else, Parker and Sophie didn't deserve to get left hanging.

\---

In the corner of his screen, a message popped up announcing that a remote uplink was being established made from Parker's phone. He granted access and watched as the GPS data sets were uploaded into his map storage. They looked good. He'd need to run the usual tweaks to get them to operate on the phones, but that wouldn't take very long.

As expected, while he was reviewing their routes, the phone rang. Usually, Eliot was the one making this call, but Alec wasn't surprised to see Parker's name on the caller ID.

"Hey, girl. You guys done?"

"Yes," she said, sounding slightly harassed, and Alec winced, wondering how cranky Eliot had needed to get to convince her to make the call. "There's a switchback that needs to be purged from the second route because there was a clearer shot coming out the back, but other than that-" she broke off, and Alec could almost hear Eliot's muttered prompt. "But you can go ahead and lock them in."

"Alright, good. I'll upload them back onto your phones when I'm done, probably ten minutes."

"Okay."

Alec thought she was hanging up on him, heard a scuffling noise, and then an irritated snort.

"Uh. Hey."

"Eliot?"

"Yeah, I don't know. Parker, she just."

"She's actually holding the phone to your ear, ain't she?"

"Yeah."

"He's _driving_ ," Parker called out, and Alec tried not to laugh. "This is the part where you two make wisecracks at each other until we pull in to the hotel parking lot."

Alec could _see_ the scowl that had to be digging itself into Eliot's face. He really _was_ going to lose it, here, if he wasn't careful.

"Well. _This_ is awkward," he said. "But not foolproof, so. I'm. Just gonna hang up, now. Cool?"

For a moment there was no response, but then there was a sigh that didn't sound as beleaguered as Alec had been expecting.

"Thanks."

\---

Sophie was in play, and though they were all on comms, only Hardison and Nate were talking, feeding her the information she needed to pull it off.

Between the fact that Father Blaylock had been planning on his trip to Cameroon for months, and a mix-up in the paperwork, it had taken less than an hour for Nate to take over the parish. In contrast, it took three days for Sophie to get her first face-to-face with Arlington.

Sophie had not been amused, but you wouldn't know it to listen to her now, as she spoke.

"What we hope to achieve, with this program, is to ease the transition between inmate and citizen," she recited. "We have three homes now, and hope to open a fourth, for women, next month."

"Yeah, see," Hardison was cutting in. "I still don't see what the point of this is. It's not like you need his blessing-"

"So why bring this to me?"

"Because at the moment, the apartment building the church has acquired has been held up in re-permitting for over seventeen months, now, pending signatures of county officials who have been ducking my calls."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Trewlaney, but that's not my department."

"Oh, but you see, it is. The signatures are pending because the requests for inspection to ensure the building meets immediate post-release and probationary release restrictions have so far gone unanswered."

"Yeah, because the _real_ Missus Trewlaney's foundation doesn't have the funds to bribe her way up the chain," Hardison muttered, earning a warning from Nate.

"I don't know if you are aware, but our foundation has recently undergone a restructuring, and during the course of this upheaval, it's been discovered that my predecessor may not have been as clear on the requirements of her position as had been previously assumed. Since I have taken over, I've petitioned the advisory committee to make use of the more discretionary portions of the project's budget in order to offset any expense in expediting our requests."

 _Bait's on the hook_. Eliot listened carefully. All Sophie needed to do was get Arlington to bite.

"Now," Sophie continued. "While it would be cheaper for us to wait for our number to be called, it would suit the foundation better not to have to announce a delay in what has been our largest capital project this year. And I'm sure that bringing inspectors off of other ongoing projects would cost the county quite a bit. Therefore, we are prepared to hand you two hundred thousand to defray your expense."

"That's quite a lot."

"I must admit, there is some debate at the foundation regarding the amount, as some- a _minority_ , I should point out, believe that it more than covers the amount required for such a limited engagement. However, we are united in the belief that it is less costly to us than appearing empty handed next month. It's already been listed as a milestone to several of our largest supporters."

"And you need to save face," Arlington said.

"Essentially, yes," Sophie confirmed, sounding appropriately chastised for a short moment. "However, because of the nature of this project, and to repay you for your help, we would like to invite you join the project as an official sponsor, and to speak at the opening, which promises to be quite a high profile event. And if you would permit me to be so bold, it would be quite a public relations coup for the Sheriff's Office, to show how committed you are to the rehabilitation of inmates. It's never too soon to start thinking about the next election."

"You've got one hell of a pitch, Ms. Trewlaney. But it's a good cause, and I respect what you're trying to do. Sign me up."

 _Arlington's hooked_.

"That's wonderful," Sophie cooed. "And here I am in a sticky situation, and forgive my crassness. I am prepared to write you a check to cover the entire amount, but as my other duty for the day is to deposit the proceeds from last night's fundraiser, I could provide you the first twenty thousand in cash, if that makes it easier for you to get started?"

Arlington took the cash. Nobody was surprised.

\---

"All right, all right," Nate said, flagging down the waitress as Eliot sat down. "So Arlington's in play, and already, he's running with it. I've got a meeting set up with him on Monday to go over the philosophy of our halfway house, and he's accepted our invitation for the church fundraiser next Wednesday. Where are we on the inspectors?"

"They're already in town," Hardison confirmed. Joint team of FBI and DOJ. From the looks of it, one of them is already on the take, and one of the remaining two look amenable to it, if his credit card statements are anything to go by."

Parker raised her hand. "I thought _we_ were the building inspectors."

"He means the ones flying in to investigate _Arlington_ ," Eliot muttered. "So. We run the fundraiser, wait for the bribes to come out. Then what? Tip the press?"

"No. What we need to do is make them all implode. Arlington, the inspectors, everyone who's on Arlington's side."

"So I see we're back to killing you," Sophie smirked.

"Well, yeah," Nate said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "High profile event like this, all those people, all those potential witnesses. Murder, possible arrest, inspectors suddenly needing to cover their own asses with all the attention, they're going to have to crack down on Arlington's network-"

"-who will already be tearing at each other's throats before anyone even gets them on the phone," Sophie finished."

"All right," Hardison said. "I've got the accounts set up for the fundraiser. Who's playing waitstaff this time around? You going to need me in there this time?"

"Sorry, Hardison. You're in the van, we're going to need eyes everywhere for this one, but you come into play as an EMT, we're going to need to, you know, fake my death for real. Eliot? Parker? You're inside, dishcloth detail. Parker, you'll dose Arlington plant his stolen sidearm, Eliot, you're crowd control, long as it's needed, then you head to the ME's office to back up Hardison, soon as you can. Sophie and I will handle the rest. We good?"

"Yeah," Eliot said, picking up his menu. "We gonna eat or what?"

\---

Sophie, as was becoming usual, was the one to keep the conversation flowing until the food arrived, telling the story of an art dealer she'd worked for six months in order to get the Maurien Stradivarius, and the collector she'd sold it to in New Delhi.

Parker dropped her fork and scowled, suddenly furious. "April, 2002."

"What?"

"You were there on April _ninth_."

"Yes, I was," Sophie said, suddenly uneasy. "You were going to make a run on it?"

"Yeah. It was the weekend, and I was in town. But there were cops all over the place by the time I got there."

"I'm sorry."

"Is the dealer still in New Delhi?"

"Why?"

"No reason," Parker said, just as Hardison reached into the pocket for his phone.

"Guys. Hey. _Guys_. Might have something, here. Looks like Arlington's got a party going on of his own. _Tonight_. At his ranch down in Florence." Reading on, he shook his head. "Yeah, I've got an RSVP from the inspectors, they're going to be there."

"What time?"

"Starts in a little less than an hour."

"That's not good," Nate said.

"Why not?"

"We can't afford to let him get his hooks into the inspectors just yet," Sophie explained, picking up her purse. "Otherwise they'll be a unified front come Wednesday, it'll be harder to get them to turn on each other."

"Wait," Nate said. "Sophie, you can't go, he knows your face." He gazed around the table for a moment, grimaced, and even as he suggested it, it was clear that he didn't want to. "Parker, you need to get in there, we need to hear what's going on. Hardison?"

"Setting up comm relays, right."

"Yeah, and Eliot?"

"Backup and exfil. Got it."

"Okay, _go_ ," he said, waving them off as he turned wide eyes towards Sophie. "We're going to need a distraction."

\---

It was a long ride out to the ranch. Eliot let Parker dial through the radio stations every five seconds because the alternative was silence. Hardison was in the back, messing with his computers, setting up comms and checking out maps.

"All right, it looks like there's good cover if we circle 'round to the east side, should get us within a mile of the house, but we'll have to hike in from there," he said.

"It'll be good for you," Eliot muttered, covering his surprise. He'd thought Hardison would stay with the van.

But it was kind of obvious. Parker was going in. And where Parker went, so too did Alec Hardison.

\---

On the plus side, it was dark by the time they arrived, and there were enough rocks, here, to cover their tracks. That, combined with the fact that Arlington's ranch house wasn't exactly a bunker. There were no guards, though there were an alarming number of squad cars pulling up the front.

"They're having a goddamned _poker_ night," Hardison grumbled, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "The sheriff, his deputies, some shady inspectors, and a few local community bigwigs."

 _At least they're not having a barbeque_. As long as their attention was held inside, the approach wouldn't be too hard.

Eliot had gone ahead with Parker, waiting next to the back window and boosting her up onto the roof, but when she gave the okay, he hurried back to where Alec was crouching.

Coming to a full stop far too close for Alec's liking, he removed his earpiece and fixed Alec with a serious stare. "Look, man," he started, after a few awkward moments. Fixing Alec with a wary gaze, he cleared his throat.

"Nate told me you're thinking about leaving. And he told me why."

Alec followed suit. "Seriously? Right _now_ is when you want to talk about this?"

"I _don't_ wanna talk about this, but that don't change the fact that it needs to happen, so here we are."

"You first."

"Like I _said_. Nate said you're leaving, and it's because of me. And that's bullshit."

"Oh it _is_ , huh?"

"Yeah. You shouldn't be the one leaving. I should go."

" _What?_ "

He didn't have a chance to say more, though, because Parker had just made it inside. "I'm in. I'll have the bugs set up in a minute."

"Look," Hardison crouched behind the rocks as Eliot peered around the side. " _After_ the job, all right?"

"Yeah."

  
\---

Parker was still inside, having run the bugs and the transmitter down through the wiring channels from the attic crawlspace. While Eliot stalked between the house and Alec's hiding spot behind an outcropping at the southwestern edge of the yard, Alec cleaned up the audio, finally clearing it enough to patch it in to comms.

Alec couldn't make out all the voices yet, didn't know which one was Arlington's, but he was willing to bet he was one of the guys shouting.

"What's going on in there?" Nate's voice said. "We're on our way, playing car trouble. We're ten minutes out. Parker? That's when you're going to want to get out of there."

"But I like it here."

" _Parker_."

"I _know_ "

"There's an argument going on inside," Eliot clarified, and Alec could just make him out against the dark side of the house. "Looks like Arlington's pretty pissed about something. Also a bit drunk." There was a pause as Arlington let loose another stream of invective. "Make that _very_ -"

"Eliot?"

" _Shit_." came the reply. "Guys? He's wavin' a gun around."

"All right, Eliot? I want you to pull back. Parker, Hardison? Hang tight. We'll be there soon as we can.

"Step on it," Hardison said. "Looks like all of highway patrol's already camping here for the night."

\---

"Shit," Eliot said, ducking suddenly below the back window, and they all heard why a moment later.

Gunfire.

"Eliot, they shooting at you?"

"No," Alec could see him rising carefully from his crouch. "Shit. They shot one of the deputies."

Alec was just thinking of a joke when he realized that now _wasn't_ the time.

"Guys? Clear out of there," Nate ordered. "We're there in five."

"No, drive on past," Eliot growled. "There's a house full of armed, drunk, stressed out deputies. It's not safe. We're pulling back."

"Parker-"

"What?" Parker said, from just behind Alec, and he very nearly screamed. It was a close thing.

"Thought you were still inside."

"I was. Now I'm not. Eliot?"

"Fucking hell. I'm coming. Get to the van."

Parker was already gone, as Alec scrambled for his gear.

" _Now_ , Hardison!"

A moment later, Alec could see why, and he froze. The back door of Arlington's house was opening, shedding light onto the back yard.

\---

 _Fuck_.

Eliot had made it to cover behind a gnarled mess of creosote on the north side of the yard, and he'd know by now if he'd been made.

It was a straight, relatively safe shot back to the rocks from here, he'd have enough cover to make it back to the van undetected.

Hardison was on the south side, though, and the rocks were smaller along the back of the yard. They'd make him if he even _twitched_.

"Hardison, stay the fuck down."

"Copy the hell out of that," Alec said, quietly, and then went silent.

Arlington and three men were streaming out into the yard, arguing and drawing alarmingly close to where Alec was hiding.

It might just be safer to wait it out. These guys, they weren't paying attention to anything out here, they'd come out here because it had been safer to talk than inside.

But it had been a stupid move on Arlington's part. Eliot could hear it on the comms, the cursing, the hushed conversations.

He'd _been_ there, knew the frayed nerves, the paranoia. The first few jobs with Moreau, back when he'd been partnered with Chapman but before he knew how bad things could get. Tensions were mounting inside, and right now, there was no-one running damage control.

On the plus side, their job might have just taken care of itself.

On the minus side, Hardison was still trapped behind his rocks.

"Okay," Eliot said. "Here's what I'm gonna do. I'll break cover, get them to chase after around to the front of the house. As soon as it's clear, you _go_."

"What? No. That's a terrible plan! You're gonna get us _both_ killed. Think of a better one!"

"Look, I know you're freaked, and you don't trust me, or whatever, but I'm doing my job. Like I always do. Right now my job is to get your ass out of here without getting you killed. And _this_ is how I'm gonna have to do it, all right?"

There was silence on the line as Hardison considered. Over the earpiece, he heard Hardison take a deep breath. He was either about to agree to it, or about to go off on a suicidal tirade.

"Okay. Fine. Be fucking careful, man."

As if he needed the warning.

\---

Eliot really didn't want to do this. It was hard to actually force himself into action, standing here, superficially safe behind the bushes. So far, Arlington and his guys were too busy arguing about what they were going to do, how they were going to explain it, what the story was going to be, where they should dump the body- to even look up.

But at some point, they'd come to a decision, and Eliot could hazard a guess. There were miles and miles of foothills behind the house, probably hundreds of places to hide a body.

And they'd have to cut through the back yard to do it.

Eliot took a breath, and stood up, coughing, stumbling and squinting in confusion.

"The hell's _goinonhere_?" He slurred, rubbing his eyes as if waking up from a week-long bender, and pretended to be surprised.

It worked. They were as confused as he was, and all of their attention was directly on him.

He staggered back, two steps as he turned his body, and then he ran, back behind the creosote and around, up along the side of the house. He could hear them shouting and running behind him, it was working.

But in a few steps, he'd have a problem. If this was going to work, he had to make sure they all were in front of the house, so Hardison could make it up to where the cover was better. And Eliot was fast approaching a blind corner- he should've taken a wider swath, but there hadn't been time, and behind him, the shouting was growing louder.

He rounded the corner, and stopped short in the driveway, just a few feet from the first of the parked cars.

There were already half a dozen deputies standing there, guns drawn.

And they were all aimed at him.


	4. Chapter 4

The deputies had all disappeared around the side of the house, chasing after Eliot and the coast was a clear as it was likely to get. Alec ran across the yard, dodging behind the same creosote bush- or maybe it was mesquite, he couldn't remember which- where Eliot had been pinned. The angle was better here, affording him a view of the side of the house and a sliver of the front yard. There were lights on out front, either from headlights or the patio, but beyond the movement of shadows, he couldn't see anything.

" _Hardison?_ " Wondering how close he could get if he stayed close to the house, and hoping he'd have a plan when he got there, he was dimly aware that Nate was repeating himself. "Talk to me, what the hell is going on."

"I can't-"

Eliot interrupted him. " _Hardison_ , I'm surrounded. Get to the van."

If he chased after the deputies, maybe the distraction would be enough to give Eliot the advantage. He crept forward.

Or maybe they'd just get spooked and shoot Eliot.

"Do what he says, Hardison, or I swear to _God_ …" Nate warned. "Eliot, don't resist. Let them take you in."

 _Right. Because they weren't just going to shoot him on the spot_. Alec's heart was beating in his ears, now. "How do you know they're not just going to-"

" _Hardison_ ," Parker chimed in. "Come _on_."

"But-"

Eliot was mumbling, still playing the lost drunk, but Alec didn't need visual to know that Eliot's teeth were clenched when he whispered, "Hardison, they're backtracking. Just _go_."

Alec ran, feeling like the biggest asshole in the world.

\---

He could hear Alec's breathing speed up as he ran, but just to be sure all eyes were on him, Eliot began to mumble again, squinting around at the deputies and shaking his head.

"Wha's goin' on, here?"

Arlington was grinning like it was Christmas. "What's going on, is that you're under arrest for trespassing. And the murder of Deputy Springer."

Eliot reeled, feigning surprise. "I didn't kill nobody." Staggering forward a few steps, he noticed a few hands, here and there, twitch towards their holsters. "Just," he gestured vaguely to the south. "My car broke down out on the road, and-"

Arlington's gaze traveled over his deputies; what he said next was for their benefit as much as Eliot's. "You've got a hell of a lot of witnesses who'll say otherwise, I think you'll find. Diego, cuff him, get him out of here. I'll call the EMT's."

One of the deputies stepped forward, cuffs in hand as he grabbed Eliot's shoulder. It was hard not to fight it off, to keep up the bewildered expression that he needed to maintain as he felt the cuffs being fastened around his wrists. A second deputy shoved him against the cruiser, patting him down and going through his pockets.

"You have the right to remain-"

"Just do it in the _car_ , Diego," Anderson said, "We've got a lot to do, here."

Eliot could feel the palm-warmed grip of a handgun- a Glock 17 nine mil, going by the texture and embossed logo on the grip, just above the magazine- being pressed into his hand. It was a stupid, dangerous move on their part- it would be so damned easy to take at least one of them down before they got a shot in- but it wouldn't do Eliot much good.

He wasn't surprised to feel a hand wrap tightly around his own, or the sharp pain as they gouged at his arm's pressure points. They were loosening his grip, and a moment later, he felt his finger being threaded in alongside the trigger. A moment later, Arlington- Eliot could see him in the car window's reflection, standing behind him- yanked Eliot's arm back sharply, and grasped Eliot's hand so tightly around the grip that the trigger began to move.

He hadn't braced for the sound, he'd been distracted trying to fight it off, but he was next aware of Hardison shouting and Nate's voice yelling back at him as the gun was torn from his hand. In a few seconds, he'd be in the back seat of the car, able to tell the others he was okay, that he hadn't been hit, but Nate must've been watching from somewhere on the road.

" _It's okay_ , I see him, Eliot's not hit," Nate was saying, sounding relieved. "He's fine. And. Yeah. Eliot? Don't look at the car right now, we don't need them following your line of sight." Eliot dropped his gaze from the road, where he'd nearly made out the shape of a car about a half-mile down, just before the curve.

They were opening the back door of the squad car.

When his head was knocked sharply against the frame as they shoved him inside, he felt his earpiece coming loose, felt it falling against his neck, and then it was gone, and _fuck_ , if they saw it-

But the door was slamming shut, and the deputies were already getting in the front. As they pulled away, winding past the other deputies' cars, Eliot forced himself not to look back, out across the ranch to the access road on the horizon.

There was a van there, somewhere, and inside, _hopefully_ , Hardison and Parker were safe. Probably freaking out- fine, whatever- but safe.

He'd done his job. The next part was up to them.

\---

The Maricopa County Jail, _Tent City_ , to the locals, was dark when they pulled up. Eliot could just make out the shapes of the tents behind the razor wire, but doubted he'd be getting a much closer look. If they were serious about framing him for murder- and that didn't tend to be something anyone took lightly- they were going to throw him inside the jail itself. Maximum security, or as close as they got.

As they pulled up to the back of the jail, he regarded it calmly, counting windows, floors, the exits he could see on the ground building. They were too close, now, to see the roof, but on the whole, it was actually a calming sight.

He'd seen the insides of prisons much worse than this, and he wasn't going to be there for very long.

He'd be fine.

\---

Alec didn't turn on the headlights until they'd caught up with Nate's car, and as they crept too slowly from Arlington's ranch, he alternated between gritting his teeth and growling over the comms. "Would someone _please_ tell me where the sense in letting Eliot get framed for _murder_ is hiding out? 'Cause _I_ just ain't _seeing_ it."

There was a pause on the line. Presumably, Alec wasn't the only one expecting to hear Eliot's voice bitching back at him, but they'd all heard his earbud fall, the sharp cracking noise it made when the tires crushed it into the ground.

"It's one hell of a delay tactic," Parker shrugged unconcernedly and nodded up the road ahead to where they could see Nate's rented sedan turning towards the on-ramp. "When are we going in to get him?"

"Ah, not just yet," Nate said as the sedan headed for the freeway. "They're going to be processing him now. The case won't be entered right away, not until they're certain they've got their story straight. _Please_ tell me we were recording the feed from the bugs."

"Ah, _yeah_ Nate." _Same as every damned job we've ever done_. What do you take me for?"

"Not _now_ , Hardison, okay?" Nate replied, irritably. "We can do this, but. Just wait until we're back at the hotel."

"Fine."

Sophie broke the ensuing silence, her voice tight and small. "So what are we going to do?"

"Tonight? There's really not anything we _can_ do, not before we see what he's up against."

Parker leaned forward, as if she weren't talking on comms but leaning across the table for emphasis. "But wouldn't it be easier to get him out of there before the charges stick?"

"Not unless we want the entire county looking for their escaped convict. Never mind the reinforcements they'd be calling in."

"So we're just going to leave him there?"

"We're _going_ to get him out. But we're gonna have to be smart about it, and that means _not_ going in half-cocked. Are we clear on this?"

Nobody responded, but Hardison eased up on the pedal a bit. He'd been following Nate _way_ too closely, especially with the roads being so empty at this time of night.

"Okay, good," Nate said, sensing their agreement. "We get back to the hotel. We have a drink at the bar and we figure this out. Deal?"

"Yeah." Parker said. "Fine."

\---

Sophie was glowering when Alec and Parker caught up with them, and she didn't say anything, not even after the waitress had come back with their drinks. Parker and Nate had taken up an intermittent, well rehearsed and reused conversation about something called the Kramer account and Susie, over in project management, until they were certain nobody was listening to them.

It was there, though, the conversation fell apart, and Alec was trying to think of something to say when Sophie sighed sharply and leaned over the table, fixing Nate with a glare that she'd evidently been saving up for the occasion.

"Do you mind telling us, Nate, how you knew so positively that they were not going to merely _shoot Eliot_ on sight?"

Nate blinked, as if surprised by the question. "Really?" Raising an apologetic hand to forestall disagreement, he explained. "Look. They were having enough time trying to figure out what to do with the _first_ body. Two would be even harder to explain, especially when the second could serve more easily as a scapegoat for the first one."

"You just _knew_ that." Parker was nodding to herself as if she'd had some suspicion confirmed.

"I knew that they'd been looking for a way to explain the dead deputy when a drunk trespasser stumbled in. Must've felt a lot like Christmas."

Parker frowned in something akin to sympathy. "And I thought _my_ Christmases were messed up."

\---

"We're going to need to flip one of the deputies," Sophie said, her anger mellowed somewhat over the course of two glasses of wine. "Get him to testify to what really happened."

"We could try that, but it would put him- or her- in a hell of a lot of danger. Everyone else on the force would be gunning for them." Sophie opened her mouth to argue, but Nate continued. "Look. We already have the surveillance. If it comes down to proving it, we'll be able to take it to the police."

"Nate, man. There's not a court in the world where that recording would be admissible in court. Even if Arlington _didn't_ already have powerful allies in the police department."

"Wait," Parker smiled for the first time in an hour and leaned forward in her chair. "We're going to steal ourselves a police department?"

"Let's keep that as a plan B," Nate said, frowning. He was starting to look exhausted, worried, and Alec _definitely_ didn't like seeing it.

But he didn't have any other ideas, either.

\---

It was _beyond_ late by the time Eliot had made it through intake. They'd scanned his prints and swiped gunshot residue off his right hand before they stripped him and shoved him into his cell.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that he was bunking alone, but Arlington's order that he be kept separate from the other inmates for a while got him wondering. It wasn't as if the jail wasn't massively overpopulated- hell, they'd set up tents in the _yard_ \- so there had to be a reason for it.

The first was the most obvious. For all they knew, the isolation might freak him out, might get him ready to talk. The second, though, was that if he was alone, he'd have no one to talk _to_. The deputies were still getting their story straight, probably hadn't gotten the charging paperwork put together yet. They didn't need Eliot bouncing ideas off anyone or spreading any rumors before they had a chance to come at him.

Still, though. They did put him across the corridor from one mean looking son of a bitch three times Eliot's size. Not the kind of guy anyone would want to talk to, and exactly the kind of guy who'd make a sane person seriously reconsider stepping out of line.

It wasn't really working, but it wouldn't do to go picking a fight just yet. The second he did anything to piss the guards off, he'd most likely wind up in solitary confinement, most likely in the basement somewhere. With Parker on the team, and Nate being just insane to sometimes give in to her, the fewer walls between him and them, the better.

And for all Eliot knew, big, ugly and staring was in there on trumped up charges too. He might even make an ally, if it came down to it, but Eliot wasn't going to let on either way just yet. It was late and he was tired, so he lay down on the hard, antiseptically clean bunk.

In the morning, they'd have his charges drawn up all nice and official, and he had no intention of opening his mouth until he got his phone call. He'd be assigned some dirty attorney, most likely on the take, and they'd run with it.

He stared at the ceiling, torn between the need for sleep and the need to assess just how bad this was going to get.

More than once, he found himself touching his ear, running his fingers through his hair in hopes that he'd been wrong- that his earpiece hadn't fallen to the ground, but gotten tangled and caught. That he still had an open line of communication.

They'd searched him thoroughly, though- hell, during booking they'd fucking strip-searched him- and they'd probably gone through the back of the cruiser as well to make sure he hadn't ditched anything under the seats. As far as he knew, they'd come up with nothing but a few twenties and change, but it was a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, he'd had nothing on him that could tie the rest of the team to the case. On the other hand, it meant that the earbud was lying on the ground, right in front of a dozen crooked deputies. All would take was for one observant deputy to look down at the right patch of driveway, and Eliot hadn't survived as long as he had by trusting in luck.

Worst case scenario, they'd found it and gotten suspicious, enough to know that someone else was in the area and fanning out to search the grounds ten seconds after Eliot had been taken away.

Or hell, maybe they'd just figure that he'd had to have come from somewhere. They'd find the van's tracks on the access road, they'd match it to some database and find that it had been rented from the airport about a week ago, and that the same credit card had been used at a hotel in Phoenix.

It was nearly dawn, now, so when they kicked down the first of the two doors, they'd find Nate and Sophie asleep. Hardison and Parker would be rapidly pulling on clothes, still half-dressed and flustered, when the deputies targeted _their_ room.

But maybe that wasn't the worst of the situation. If they all wound up in jail, at least it would be easier to communicate.

As soon as the morning came, he'd get up, start learning the lay of the land. Ask some questions. Ingratiate himself. Figure out which guards took bribes, what the going rates were, and which of the guys on laundry detail were down to pass notes along.

And if they were all coming in here, he'd need to find out which of the guys they needed to avoid.

The prospect of his first day in prison shouldn't have been calming- there were a lot of chances for things to get bloody and out of control, and he knew it- but the fact that he was finally hitting on something that was beginning to resemble a plan was enough that by sunrise, he felt himself drifting off into a fitful sleep.

\---

It took a few minutes, the next morning, for Alec to wake up enough to realize how shitty the day was going to be.

He grabbed his laptop and pulled up the roster from the jail's website. And there it was.

4:58 AM. Cody Gremminger was booked on probable cause charges of murder and criminal trespass. Unsurprisingly, he was being held without bail, but Alec sighed in something akin to relief.

If Gremminger was the name they'd found, it was because Eliot hadn't had any identification on him and they'd needed to run his prints, finding the faked record Alec had entered into AFIS, complete with a misdemeanor drunk and disorderly ticket that he'd invented to justify the record's existence in the system.

There was a knock on the door, and he'd been expecting Nate, but not all three of them this early in the morning. Surprisingly, Sophie looked the least awake. All three were armed with paper cups of coffee, and Parker handed him a large one.

"Just got back from planting a stolen car in a ditch along the south side of Arlington's property. Should keep them from expanding any search when they start to wonder where the hell he came from." Nate said once they were all inside, and yeah, now that he looked at them, Parker and Nate did appear to have been awake for a few hours already. "How bad is it?"

"Does what it says on the box," he said, sliding the laptop to the center of the table so they could all see. "Eliot didn't talk. They had to run his prints to identify him, and they found the Gremminger alias I made for him. I'm going to need some time to make sure that's as far as they're digging."

"What about the incident report?"

"It hasn't been submitted yet," Hardison switched over to the county records mirror he'd set up. "But it's not even the end of the shift yet, they're still working on it."

"Probably still getting their stories straight, yeah," Nate nodded, raising his brow as Hardison brought up the booking screen and clicked on the picture. Between the image and the description, it was clear that he hadn't been injured too seriously, though he was likely, given the bruising, that the report would reflect that he'd resisted arrest.

Hell, if Alec didn't know better, going by the photo alone, Eliot was exactly what you'd expect the man who murdered a deputy to look like.

"Yeah, this is going to be bad," Nate said, reading his mind as he flung the newspaper down onto the table. That same picture was spread above the fold, larger than the article underneath.

"Full details to follow pending notification of the victim's family," Sophie read aloud. "But already, the Sheriff's Office is planning on prosecuting to the full extent of the law." Her eyes kept moving across the page, her expression growing horrified. Alec craned his neck to read over her shoulder, but all he could see was the Arizona Republic's masthead.

 _Oh, fuck_.

Alec took a deep breath before looking back up at Nate, seeing the same realization dawning there, but someone had to say it out loud, it might as well be him.

"Arizona has the death penalty, don't it?"


	5. Chapter 5

It was almost noon when Nate's phone rang, and he had it on speaker phone even before the woman on the line finished explaining that their call would be recorded, that the county would assign a lawyer for the defense if no other options are forthcoming, and a dozen other small, routine details. She sounded bored- probably did this a hundred times a day- but after a few excruciating minutes, Eliot was there on the line.

"Hey, guys. I didn't kill that guy." He sounded like he didn't know where to go from there, but Nate was already covering it.

"Hi _Cody_ , he said, either reminding Eliot of the alias he was using, or reminding him to stay in character. "We saw the papers. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Locked up, they just got done charging me. Preliminary hearing is next week Tuesday."

"No worries. We've already arranged for a lawyer, her name is Tara Carlyle and she's on her way. And in the meantime, we're going to do everything possible to help you out, okay?"

"Yeah," Eliot said, and Alec could hear the thousand questions Eliot wanted to ask, but couldn't.

"Weird, man," Alec knew that he was disguising his voice to sound more incredulous than he was, but maybe he could get some information. "What's it like, they got you locked up inside, or are you out in one of those tent things they got out back?"

"Got my own cell, at least until they bring someone else in," he said. "They're only letting me outside for an hour or so on account of me not admitting to somethin' I didn't do. Aren't going to let me have any visitors besides my lawyer, at least not until after the first hearing, seein' as how they're not wild about me not talking."

"Keep it up, Cody,' Sophie instructed. "They're probably just trying to intimidate you. We're going to rearrange a few things to cover the work assignments for this week without you, but I'm sure once the hearing's come and gone you'll be back with us."

"Yeah, okay. Cool. Wish I could be there. But it looks like I gotta wrap this up, so…"

"Be careful, man," Alec said, as the others expressed similar sentiments, and it was Eliot who hung up first.

\---

"You can't be _serious_ ," Sophie said, glaring at Nate. "We've got to get Eliot out- we can't leave him hanging on murder charges because of a _job_.

"We can't run a job to get Eliot out right now anyway, at least not the way we usually would. Arlington, and who knows how many others here in town- know our faces, that's why Sophie's got Tara flying in from Seattle- and if we blow our covers, we're not going to get another shot at him."

"And in the meantime?"

"In the meantime, we get information. Prepare for the worst. I want us to know every inch of the grounds so that if it comes down to it, we can get him out of there ourselves. I want a clean getaway, new aliases. We're probably going to need to fake his death as soon as this is done. I want to never come back here again. Is that clear?"

"Yeah, I hear you," Alec nodded. Despite himself, it didn't sound so impossible when Nate spelled it out like that. "What do you need us to do?"

"Yeah, when do we get to break in?"

"I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, Parker," Nate warned, but grinned. "Though we need you to start researching the buildings for when we inevitably do, so you and I are hitting libraries and country records for the next few days. Sophie? I need you to keep working the sheriff, and if you manage to make inroads with a few of the deputies, so much the better, and stay in the loop with Tara. Hardison?" Nate actually had the temerity to look apologetic.

"I know, man. _Everything_ else."

"You let us know if there's anything you need."

"Right. What're you going to do?"

"Today? Sophie and I are going to keep tracking down more of Santiago's family, track down Branson and find out if any of them have heard anything. Tomorrow, I'm handling services at the church, and Sophie's going to round up support for the foundation. I'm going in Monday morning to spread the good word to the inmates, though I doubt I'll be able to see Eliot, though I'll see what I can do. In between, I expect we're going to be running around like panicked chickens, but let's try and keep our heads on, all right?"

"They run even _after_ their heads have been cut off," Parker said, and Nate rolled his eyes.

\---

By Sunday night, Alec had built two new identities for Eliot, strengthened all the others, and did a little finessing to keep the back door open into the County servers- they were more trouble than anything the FBI had ever come up with, gotta love that agency independence. He had a live feed of every addition and modification to every database in the department. He already had crawlers running through the system gathering data for Santiago's case, so it wasn't so hard to enter Eliot's into the program.

He'd crashed, hard, in front of the television after dinner.

\---

Monday, he'd woken early, and maybe because there wasn't anything else to throw himself at, he started hacking his way back towards DC again. And he found it.

The police were looking into the warehouse fire again.

And three new faces had appeared at McRory's, though rarely at the same time, and they seldom passed more than polite, distant nods. Each sat alone, nursing no more than two drinks as they ignored their newspapers or watched traffic outside. Each had a cup of coffee or glass of water when their drinks were gone, stretching out their stay. They chatted with Cora and the rest of her staff, though so far, Cora hadn't called to warn them that something was up.

But she wasn't watching them like he was, and she didn't have face recognition software running for three hours and still coming up blank.

"Nate," he said, watching the face recognition run, hoping for a breakthrough. "I think we _might_ have a problem.

"Actually, Hardison, we've got two. Arlington's canceling Wednesday."

"Well at least that means you'll survive the week," Alec sighed.

"I'll grab the others on my way over."

\---

"So what's going on with Arlington?"

"The family of the deputy he killed scheduled the funeral for Thursday, and he's insisting that it would be in poor taste to go to a big party in the meantime."

"You mean he's actually got a heart?"

"Or a good political advisor," Sophie sneered. "We're back at square one."

"We're back a few weeks, is all," Nate said, but he didn't look very confident. "Hardison? What do you got?"

"I've got three guys watching McRory's," he said, pointing out the stills he'd isolated from the feed, still running in the background. "So far nobody's been upstairs, but-"

"Yeah, no. That's not ideal."

"How much you keep there?"

"Not much. But we don't need them getting comfortable."

"So what are we gonna do from here?"

"We can't exactly go back home," Parker pointed out.

Nate thought about it for a long while, pacing the room. "But we are going to need to get them gone. And we need to get Eliot out, bring down Arlington, and, in case everyone's forgotten why we're _here_ , we've got to exonerate Jeanine Santiago."

"So how do we do all that?"

"Sophie? You heard from Tara?"

"She's already heading in to see Eliot."

"Okay. Parker, you're with me. Sophie, Hardison? You're staying here, but I want regular contact and your systems up and running for whatever we need."

"They always are," Alec muttered, trying not to sound indignant.

"Parker and I will go deal with these guys, and hopefully, we'll be back by Wednesday night, but in case we're not, Sophie, I need Ms. Trewlaney to work the event solo, and I'll tell the warden you're taking over prisoner outreach."

"As far as plans go, Nate, that's a little vague."

"I've got a long flight to come up with something better, and I'll call as soon as we're on the ground. Unless you've got a better idea?"

The three of them were silent.

\---

Holding the phone to her ear, Tara waved through the glass, not yet coming inside. She was turning away, but Eliot could see the surprise on her face.

Surprise wasn't good. It meant that something was changing.

Eliot flexed his knuckles and tried to remain patient. Change didn't mean things were getting worse.

But when she sat down in the chair on the other side of the class, she was looking nervous.

 _Things are getting worse_.

"Hello, Cody. My name is Tara Carlyle. I've been retained by Mr. Papadokalis to see you through this entire matter."

"How is Jimmy, anyway?"

"It seems he's been called away on business back home. Said there were some issues with _oversight_ on one of his property investments. He's taking it up with parks and recreation, so he'll be gone for a few days."

Someone was watching his condo, and Nate had gone back with Parker to check up on it.

"Not that it matters," Eliot replied, glancing up at the cinderblocks. "It's not as if I'm going to be doing a whole lot of entertaining in here."

"No, I suppose not. Though if you'd like, I can petition the warden to allow you visitors once we've made some progress. As it is, he's willing to sign the paperwork that will allow you to attend services in the chapel, should you so choose. "Shall we get down to business?"

"Sure."

"Talk me through what happened the other night. Everything you remember." She set a digital recorder on the table in front of her. "Of course, everything you say will be held under client privilege, so please, speak freely."

Tara was good at prompting him with the details, leading him through exactly what she needed him to say. He admitted to stealing the car that had been found on the edge of Arlington's property, even followed her eyes as she adjusted her blue jacket to identify the car's color.

"Witnesses say that you appeared inebriated," Tara prompted, shaking her head just a bit. If this recording was going to sound solid, he needed to sound reluctant, even nervous, and so far, he'd been playing along a bit too well."

"I don't know, maybe," Eliot said. "Yeah. Maybe I was drunk enough to… accidentally get in the wrong car. I got lost. Realized I was weaving all over the road, so I pulled over. I don't know. Saw some lights, was gonna see about getting to a phone, calling…someone, I don't even know who. Just wanted to get back to the hotel."

'And what happened when you arrived?"

"I don't know. There was a lot of shouting coming from inside the house. I was going around to the front when these guys came out the back, talking real quiet. I didn't know what was going on, I just needed a phone. But when I went to talk to them, they just _freaked_. Next thing I knew, they were arresting me."

"You must realize a gun was recovered from the scene, that your prints were found all over it, and that they've got gunshot residue samples from your skin that indicate you'd _fired_ it."

"I _didn't_ , ma'am. They forced the thing into my hands. I was already cuffed, and they were, like _squeezing_ my hands so I'd pull the trigger."

"Are you certain?"

" _Yes_. I. I've never even _shot_ a gun before."

Tara winked, but as she leaned over the table, her voice was serious. "I'm afraid that if I'm going to represent you, you're going to tell me _everything_. And unfortunately, yours is not the only case that I'm working at the moment, so I'm going to come back Friday afternoon." She pushed herself up from the table, reaching for the recorder. "I'll go set up the visit right now. Meanwhile, I suggest you use the time to give some serious consideration to the information that you're willing to give me. It _is_ your ass on the line, after all."

Eliot rolled his eyes. It didn't take remembering his role to manage the expression. "And if I don't?"

"Well? I'd suggest prayer."

\---

Oddly enough, actually having been charged with a crime seemed to open a hell of a lot of doors, if only inside the jail.

Maybe Tara had finessed it, maybe they had better things to do than keep him in lockdown, but instead of going back to his cell after the meeting, he was led out to the mess. From the looks of things, the crowd was thinning out, and he grabbed a tray and went down the line, getting some beef thing in a greasy gravy, salty mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables that tasted a bit off. The roll was stale, to hard to even bother eating, but he inhaled the rest while sitting at an otherwise empty table.

The movies always got it wrong. There were no gangs staring him down, nobody trying to steal his food or turn him for cigarettes- apparently that particular economy had probably gone out with the smoking ban. Nobody was fighting or shouting or even looking up from their trays, mostly.

It didn't give him much chance to start a conversation, but he counted faces, made a point to notice which guys were sitting together and which ones weren't. There was still a network in place here, he just needed to find a back door in.

The realization that he was thinking like Hardison was jarring. It wasn't _homesickness_ \- Hardison wasn't _home_ and he wasn't thinking about his house out on Hough's Neck, but.

Gone. He just wanted to get out of here before the hammer came down. And right now, Tara was out of play until Friday. Hardison was the only one working on it. Presumably.

Part of Eliot wondered if he could even count on that much. For all he knew, Hardison was spending all his time monitoring comms on the other side of the country, making sure his girlfriend was safe.

Which, yeah. That needed to happen too. There really wasn't much Hardison could do right now. All the hacking in the world wasn't going to wipe this away while the players- an entire sheriff's department- were still in the game.

Eliot just needed to be patient. And find out everything he could while he waited.

\---

The guards came through to sweep everyone out so the next shift could come in- apparently he'd showed up during the second lunch shift. The other inmates were all filing out towards Tent City, but he was led back through his already full cellblock. When the guards came through to do count, McTeague, a heavyset guard with a beard and a bald spot, informed him that in the future, he'd be eating with first shift.

"How long until the yard, boss?" Big Dumb and Ugly sounded agitated, across the way.

"Two hours, Trent," McTeague said, already heading back down the block. "Why you always _asking_?"

Eliot glanced over at Trent's cell, noticed the new addition sitting shell-shocked on the edge of the lower bunk, sitting defensive and frozen, like he was trying to be invisible. Eliot thought about calling out, asking his name, or starting a conversation with Trent to distract him, but it didn't seem wise. Trent had gone back to the magazine he was reading, anyhow.

He had to find something to read, something to pass the time, soon. In the meantime, he started to stretch.

\---

 _It was still raining, and there was a persistent drip coming through the kitchen ceiling that represented the height of their entertainment for the past two days. Thurston hadn't made a move yet, and Eliot was starting to wonder if the guy was actually that afraid of getting his thousand-dollar suit wet, or he knew that he was being watched._

 _Eliot switched out the pan again, dumping the water down the sink and setting the timer on his watch. He'd have to do it again in two hours._

 _Unless, of course, something actually happened._

 _But it was looking increasingly unlikely. Chapman was still staring out through the window, and he could hear Howler on the radio, checking in from his post on the other side of Thurston's block. Still nothing._

 _He still had three hours before it was his shift at the window, but his options for the meantime were slim. He was exhausted, but he'd barely moved in the past twelve hours, hadn't burned enough energy to sleep. The television would just lull him into a coma before his shift started, and it was bad enough listening to it playing low in the background. He wasn't hungry, and anyhow, their options were slim. They'd ordered out yesterday, though, and there was no need to alert Thurston that his neighbors were suddenly take-out fanatics. Pasta and canned sauce. Cold cuts and bread from the deli down the block. Not a lot of options, and he wasn't sure he was hungry._

 _He wandered back into the bedroom with a cursory "shout if you see anything," nearly getting a response from Chapman. Apparently he was starting to feel the exhaustion too, which at least meant he wasn't talking up that woman he'd met in Cairo anymore, or the expression on Colonel Workman's face when he went over the edge of the building in Havana. Eliot had been there. He didn't need to hear about it._

 _The tenement's bedroom was a dark, moldy smelling room with nicotine stains on the window and stains on the carpet, but Eliot had managed to sweep a portion of the floor clean- much to Chapman's amusement- and he sat down, undoing the button on his fly, as he began to stretch. Arms and back first, then legs._

 _It wasn't as if it were absolutely necessary. He was just doing a few sets to keep the blood flowing, not prepping for a full-scale attack on a secured bunker. It passed the time._

 _He could still hear the water dripping in the kitchen, and figured that if he got the chance, he'd take out Thurston himself, just for putting him through this._

\---

  
The yard was hot, dusty and dry when he finally got out of his cell, blinking against the sunlight, and Eliot hadn't realized he'd had it so good. His cell wasn't the most comfortable, but it was _much_ cooler than it was outside. He had to stop that line of thought, though. Next ones down the line would be actual contemplation of how long he'd be there- from what he'd gathered, it could be a while- but _accepting_ that wasn't going to do him any favors.

There was a pathetic looking basketball hoop- missing the actual hoop- stuck in the dirt near the building, and a weight set that a few guys were using despite the heat. A few of the cons were walking the perimeter, stretching their legs, but most gathered in groups of three or four, shooting the breeze.

It was the only wind out there.

Eliot followed the general clockwise procession around the yard, keeping enough distance that he could hear what was happening all around him, and counting paces just for the hell of it.

The exercise yard was bordered to the north by the jail's southern wall, and to the east and west were the two subdivisions of Tent City. Both the yard and the subdivisions were surrounded in razor wire, with about ten feet between them, creating a corridor where guards armed with tasers patrolled unimpeded. On the outside were two or three more razor wire fences, and beyond that, the desert, where one of the chain gangs was out digging holes.

Each subdivision appeared to be housing about forty or fifty inmates. The walls of the tents were rolled up to let the nonexistent breeze through, and Eliot doubted very much that any of the residents were as enthusiastic about yard time as the ones living inside were. They slept on cots and though there were fans and a radio playing, somewhere, it looked more like a refugee camp than a jail.

At least until one looked at the people sitting in the shade, most of whom were staring back at him.

 _Hope you're entertained, 'cause I'm about to lapse into a coma_.

If his suspicions were correct, Tent City was where the nonviolent offenders were kept, the local equivalent of minimum security, and many of them were watching the cons' circuits of the yard with undisguised curiosity.

They were doing a better job of it than the guards were, too. It was their agitation that Eliot was starting to pick up on first, and when he turned to walk along the western edge of the yard, he could see why.

Back over by the basketball hoop, a crowd was gathering, something was going down. Eliot wasn't the only one jogging over to get a better look.

Trent had his new cellie backed against the wall, flanked by two associates to prevent him from escaping. He was winding up to throw another punch when one of the guards, blowing a whistle, sauntered over to put an end to it.

Only he _didn't_ , he was just watching. Like it was a football game or something.

The new guy was doing what he could. Now that he wasn't curled in on himself, it was clear that he worked out, sometimes, though he clearly wasn't a fighter. His hits weren't connecting and he was using a whole lot of energy trying to shove his way past the three. The bleeding cut above his eye wasn't doing him any favors, either. His nose was probably already broken.

Eliot made his way to the front of the crowd, still trying to decide whether or not to get involved.

Another punch to the nose- blood spurting everywhere, spattering Trent, soaking into the ground- was all Eliot needed. He stepped forward, keeping his hands visible and his eyes on Trent's associates.

And just like that, it was over, though it had nothing to do with Eliot. Two more guards had fought their way through the crowd and had their tasers out.

Surprisingly, that was enough. Trent backed off and his friends followed suit. As they moved back, the new guy slid down against the wall, rubbing at his face.

"You alright?" Eliot asked, glancing over to where the guards were rounding on Trent and his cronies, telling them to get on the ground.

"Me? Oh, I'm wonderful," the man rolled his eyes, wincing as he tried to catch his breath. "In case things weren't bad enough, yeah?"

"Guess not." Eliot reached out a hand to help the guy up, not particularly caring if the ridiculous clown suit they'd given him to wear got a little blood on it. "I'm Cody," he said, after reminding himself. "In the cell across from yours. What's your name?"

"Priestly. Donovan Priestly." He was a little shaky on his feet, but for all the hits he took, he seemed lucid enough. "Yeah. Seen you earlier. Thanks," he said, and if he'd been meaning to continue, he was cut off by the sudden appearance of a guard, who shoved Eliot out of the way and backed Donovan back into that same wall.

Eliot clenched his fists, but let it slide.

There wasn't much he could do, anyhow.

\---

After the fight, the block had gone on lockdown, and Eliot didn't see Donovan again until Thursday, when McTeague ushered him back onto the block from the medical wing. Instead of putting him in Trent's cell, though, they stopped in front of Eliot's.

"Cody, you're getting a new roommate. I take it you two have met?"

"Yeah," he replied, stepping back into the cell as McTeague opened the door, keeping his face neutral. Trent was still across the way, well within glaring distance, and lockdown wasn't going to last forever. As soon as it ended, Eliot needed to get out and get some information beyond what he'd been hearing through the bars. He needed to actually start making some contacts. _Useful_ contacts.

Donovan wasn't likely to be on that list any time soon.

"Lockdown's being lifted after dinner tonight," McTeague said, turning to glare at Trent. "I see any more shit, I don't care who starts it, you're all heading to isolation, got that?"

"Yes sir," Trent said from his cell, sounding suitably upbraided.

"Well, until then, I'll leave you two to get to know each other."

\---

The worst thing was, Donovan wanted to _talk_. Wanted to know what Eliot was in for, and hell, it didn't matter, so he gave him the overview, explaining that he was framed. Donovan didn't look like he was buying it, though, and was more than happy to let the conversation be turned back on to him.

"I think I killed this lady, I don't know," Donovan winced, prodding thoughtlessly at his nose and looking mostly like the shock was just setting in again, like he was just remembering how doomed he was. It set Eliot's teeth on edge just looking at him. "She just ran out from between two cars and I didn't see her. I freaked and ran. It was stupid. Heard about it on the news this morning, and. Yeah. Turned myself in. Fuck, I probably should've run, you know?" He dragged a hand through his hair. "I'm so screwed, man."

"Least it was an accident," Eliot shrugged, wishing that Sophie were on the line, telling him how to respond. "They think I did the deputy on _purpose_."

And that had done the trick. Donovan clearly didn't want the reminder of who he was sharing a cell with, and was quiet for the rest of the afternoon. Eliot caught him, once or twice, catching quick sidelong glances. Wary, as if he were a bomb just waiting to go off.

At least Hardison had just ignored him.

After a few hours, they were all released for dinner, which was disgusting- the chicken tasted more like fish than anything- but the lockdown was over, he could stretch his legs on the block a bit, even if he hadn't managed to shake Donovan yet.

When the announcement came over the PA to say that services were about to begin, he remembered Tara's words, and got up.

"You religious?" Donovan sounded surprised, a little nervous at the prospect of being left alone.

He bit back his first response, that he wasn't anybody's port in the storm, but held back. "Gotta believe in something, right?" And Eliot wasn't lying. Right now, looking at Donovan's bruised face, seeing the reminder of how shitty things could get in here, he needed to believe that right now, in the chapel on the other end of the building, Sophie was waiting.

\---

She pulled it off well, going over the reading from the Bible like she was born to it- and for all Eliot still knew about her, maybe she had, but it was making Eliot impatient. He'd grabbed a seat up front, earning a grin that Sophie hadn't even tried to hide, but she was keeping it cool.

There were a dozen other guys in here, sitting in three rows, and as she led the discussion from her chair up front, she seemed to be giving each of them her full attention.

Closing her Bible, she began the discussion, handling most of it herself. The crowd wasn't particularly responsive. Thankfully, though, she didn't single Eliot out for comment. He really hadn't been listening.

There was a flash of humor in her eyes as her last attempts at conversation fell flat, and she finally began to wrap things up.

"Before we go back to our _naps_ " she smiled, and Eliot twisted in his seat to see the guy in the next cell over being shaken awake, "I would like you all to promise me that you'll meditate on what we discussed here this evening. And if you would like to go over what we've read, you'll find the Bibles on the book truck where they always are. I've prepared a list and made copies for everyone. See me on your way out if you'd like a copy.

Eliot hung back, making a show of stretching, but the guards were there and would easily see his hesitation, so he got in line to file out. The guy in front of him accepted a copy in resignation, and Eliot affected the same stance, feeling a shift of paper underneath his copy, something folded, slightly thicker."

"Thanks," he said, slowing down. "How often you do this?"

"Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, and I also attend the afternoon service with the Pastor. You should come back next week, we're starting an informational series on resources for adapting once you've been released."

"Don't know. Looks like I'll be in here a while."

"Now, no thinking like that," she grinned again, and it felt real even if it looked deliberately vague. "I'm sure you'll be out more quickly than you think. In the meantime, read this. It'll help."

Eliot walked out before the guards could say anything, before he could do the stupid thing he was thinking about. Hugging Sophie wouldn't go over so well. Not here. But he really wanted to.

\---

He grabbed a paperback from the cart in the hall, not even looking at the title beyond checking to make sure it wasn't some bodice-ripper thing. It didn't matter. He had something more important to read.

The note was folded in four, and he shoved it inside the book as he made his way back to his cell.

"How was it?" Donovan asked, and Eliot gave him Sophie's printout while holding up the book. "There's a cart down the hall, think you've got time before we're in for the night."

"Good idea."

With Donovan gone, Eliot climbed up on the top bunk and, keeping his back to the bars, slid the note out again.

 _Eliot,_

 _You'll hear tomorrow from Tara, but there's two hundred in your commissary account should you need it, though I've been past, and cannot imagine what you would do with candy and bubble gum, but I suppose that's the new economy now. Unless, of course, it's another humiliation tactic courtesy of our dear friend the sheriff._

 _I hate the way that sounds, that bit about the commissary, as if you're going to need it. But the fact is, you may for a while, at least until we can get up to the court date. We're monitoring their every move, and Tara's brought me a list of witnesses to start leaning on. The trial will be the best way to take Arlington down, but if things begin to get hot in there, you let Tara know tomorrow. I'll see you on Saturday and Nate will be there Sunday._

 _Love, Sophie_

 _PS. I nearly forgot- Tara has petitioned for you to be allowed visitors. She'll tell you about it at your appointment._

Underneath was Hardison's scrawl.

 _Hey man. Hope you're cool in there, we're doing what we can. I'm going over the jail roster to see who's who in there, and seriously- maybe you already know, but if you meet a guy named Martin King, you avoid the hell out of him. He's up on trial next week for serially murdering a bunch of co-eds, and I know you could take him, but who knows, with the hair? You might be close enough to his type. Far as I can tell on your block, Miller is down for the take, but McTeague and Salvo are new, still doing things by the book. Keep an eye out. See you next week. Peace._

\---

Alec had been reading everything he could find on the Maricopa County Jail, and not liking any of it. On the plus side, the facilities weren't those of a federal supermax prison, though he saved satellite images of the grounds in a folder along with the plans for the original building. With tent city taking over much of the expansive grounds, there was more barbed wire than brick, but that only meant that eyes were everywhere. Crowd control was going to be more of a hands-on endeavor. And from the looks of it, the county _really_ liked getting their hands on the inmates.

According to the complaints on file, Arlington had set up chain gangs, actually had the inmates out in the yard digging and backfilling holes and breaking rocks. Somehow, the jail managed to get away with giving their inmates- even those who hadn't gone to trial, who hadn't been proven guilty- moldy, spoiling food for meals and often denied them medical treatment, all on the grounds of budgetary concerns.

Alec was feeling ill even before he got to the worst of it.

The guards managed to squeeze their duties in between bouts of humiliating the inmates. There were several accounts of inmates being forced to stand in the middle of the yard while the guards took turns hurling insults and jokes at them. The standard issue uniforms were black and white striped scrubs, and according to several accounts, the men's underwear was uniformly died a pastel shade of pink.

It was odd, knowing that Eliot was hanging out in pink underwear, and at some point, Alec was going to tease him mercilessly about it, but he wasn't the type to kick a man when he was down. Eliot needed to get _out_ of there, first.

Tara was setting up a slow and steady legal attack, but she was going to have her work cut out for her. Best case scenario, she and Nate would come up with a way to get the charges dropped. Most likely? The charges would be downgraded to manslaughter. Worst case? Eliot would get to choose between lethal injection and the gas chamber, and they'd have to break him out. Either way, it was going to be a lot easier busting him out of the jail than it would be to bust him out of _prison_.

So they needed to be ready.

He began going through the lists of names. Tara had brought back a few from Eliot, but Sophie, counseling several of the prisoner's as part of the church outreach, had managed to bring back a _staggering_ number of names. Combined with the jail roster, there were about three hundred he had to go through, not counting the residents of the women's facility on the southern side of the grounds.

He'd entered them into his system, bounced it back to JARVIS for processing, looking for guards with massive debts, and screening the inmates. Those with promising outside connections were being put in one column of the list, the dangerous ones in another column.

It had been Sophie's idea.

"We cant be in there for him, but we can at least try and get him in contact with some trustworthy people," she 'd insisted.

"Ain't like he can't handle himself," he'd replied, toying with the room service menu. "Hell, he's probably running the place. And you know we're just going to end up busting his ass out anyway."

"Which would be much easier if he had allies of a sort on the inside. Nothing needs to be carved in stone, but right now, he can't trust anyone." She'd paused, waving a hand before adding, "In there. Whether you like it or not."

And she'd given him this look, like she was getting ready to be disappointed, preparing to argue her point.

Like Alec wasn’t going to do his damned _job_.

He _got_ it. Like she'd said. Eliot needed people he could trust out _here_ , and with Nate and Parker back in Boston, Sophie playing Trewlaney, and Tara out of commission until Friday, as of right now, it was down to Alec.

Everything else could wait until after the job.

JARVIS was running in the background, bouncing updates to his laptop every half hour as it sorted through the roster and booking forms. So far, everything had been as expected- too many people in jail for what would normally be ticketed offenses, too many thugs in high security, and not enough information in the reports to tell him much of anything about their personalities.

Sophie had stopped by twice, so far, to check up on him, but he still couldn't hack a guy's head. The updates were useless, and even going back to the incident reports wasn't telling him much. He'd have to move on to something else, soon. But he read on. There was still the chance something might pop out.

So maybe he wasn't really expecting to see what came up on the screen next.

He crosschecked with the hospitals and police department, just to be sure.

It didn't make any sense. There was something hinky with arrestee number 20110284. Grabbing the case number off the booking, he went back into the initial report, but everything looked in order. The numbers were in sequence, the forms filled out correctly. The case had been opened in December of last year. No warrants had been issued, the case looked like it had gone cold until yesterday.

 _Only. Hang on._

He checked the files he'd copied off the servers earlier in the week. And checked them again.

There'd been no record of any such case before yesterday, not with the courts, not with the police department, and not with the sheriff's office. There'd been nothing from the hospitals, either.

Case numbers were assigned automatically, in the order in which they were entered.

Only this one, apparently from December, had been entered just last night. Two hours before the arrest had been made.

Someone had hacked the system.

Running 20110284 through JARVIS, he found nothing. No bank statements. No phone or property records. He went back further, _way_ further than he should've had to, and it was all sounding a little too familiar.

Donovan Priestly had been born- and died- thirty-seven years ago in a Washington DC hospital.

\---

Between the insomnia and Donovan's tossing and turning, Eliot hadn't gotten much sleep, though he dozed through most of the morning. As predicted, Donovan stayed close through lunch, and again out in the yard, trying to make conversation in awkward fits and starts. He'd relaxed a bit, filing the space with rambling stories that would've been amusing were they not so transparent.

Donovan was trying to ingratiate himself, trying to get Eliot to like him, kind of like that woman Sophie had talked about who was telling the sultan all those stories. He was trying to prove to Eliot that he was entertaining, that he was worth protecting.

To be fair, it passed the time. All through lunch, he'd talked about backpacking through Europe after college. By the time they'd made it out into the yard, he'd moved on to some nightmarish Super Bowl party gone awry due to the sudden appearance of his boss.

Eliot mostly kept quiet, not wanting to give him the illusion of interest, not quite irritated enough to tell him off. It was hard going, though. Donovan was so freaked that Eliot didn't have the chance to run recon on much of anything. Beyond identifying the guards that Hardison had mentioned- Salvo was the younger one, shaved head, in good shape, and he didn't look like he was suffering from burnout yet, and Miller was older, with a ridiculous flat-top crew cut and a permanent scowl- he'd wasn't going to have much to tell Tara when she arrived at three. Not unless she wanted to hear about Donovan getting stranded in Dublin for three weeks due to a problem with his visa.

Eliot redoubled his efforts, taking inventory as he began a second circuit of the yard, Donovan's voice still droning in the background. Exits from the yard included the one heading back into the jail, and two leading out to the tents. All three were locked, with guards stationed nearby, and another two roamed the yard. One guard for every ten inmates, and all were armed with tasers. The firearms stayed on the other side of the fence. Miller had been the first one at the fight, yesterday, but hadn't reacted right away, waiting for Salvo and the others before going in. Probably a minute, two tops.

The searchlights were off, now, but they seemed to be everywhere, and those fences would take time to get around. Going through the yard wasn't a solid option, he'd have to check the mess, next.

Donovan went silent next to him, and Eliot spun to see what had caught his attention, muscles tensing, preparing for a fight.

It was nothing, just a guy standing in one of the tents. But then he raised a hand like he was about to wave, angrily, and Eliot recognized the gesture even before he stepped out into the sunlight.

It was Hardison.


	6. Chapter 6

"You know that guy?" Donovan asked, and _shit_ , Eliot had been careful not to stare, not to give anything away.

Hardison in here meant one of two things. Either this was phase one of Nate's plan, setting the stage for something about to hit, or things on the outside had gotten much worse than Eliot had suspected.

"Huh. No idea." Eliot shrugged, casually glancing back towards the basketball hoop. "You?"

"He's staring," Donovan said, shaking his head. "Weird."

Alec's body language- surprised and confused- could've meant anything as he approached his side of the fence, and Eliot shifted his weight to his other foot, about to take a step forward, when Donovan noted," he's coming this way, you think…"

The last thing he needed was Donovan's curiosity. He aborted the movement.

\---

This was the most carefully stupid thing Alec had ever done, but it was too late to back out now.

Nate was going to kill him, if Sophie didn't get him first. But there hadn't been time for a better plan. Tara wasn't going to be able to get back in until tomorrow, and there was no way to get Sophie in before Saturday. And for all he'd known, Donovan had already been closing in for the kill.

He'd prepared. Comms were easy. Two earpieces and his phone were all he needed

The phone would hold a charge for three days, and set to piggyback off the wireless and relay via satellite back to JARVIS. More than enough time to get a warning through to Eliot, and the moment Sophie found the note he'd left, the rest of the team would be on comms as it all played out.

\---

Going through his case of backups, he found what he was looking for- an earpiece he'd built last year. The earbud itself was of his own design, but he'd built it into a hearing aid he'd bought online, Large enough to be noticed immediately, but not _noted_. He'd been halfway through making a second one when reality had set in and sent him back to the drawing board. One person with a hearing aid was one thing. Four, though, was a bit much.

Still, it was exactly what he needed to get through a search, and yeah, the Maricopa County Jail wasn't the Hilton, but it wasn't going to do any of them any favors to have an inmate who couldn't hear them.

Even better? All he needed to do was hollow out the hearing aid's casing, and it was just large enough to hold a second earbud inside.

All he'd have to do was get it to Eliot.

\---

The last thing he'd done, before going out and getting himself arrested, was to check the jail's systems for any changes in Eliot's status. He'd estimated the time it would take to get through booking and intake, and guessed that his arrival would coincide with the felony block's yard time, but once he'd gotten started, Alec had been in an information blackout. Eliot could've been moved down to isolation, or worse, the infirmary. Anything could've happened in the meantime, even the morgue, which Alec refused to think about.

He'd made it through intake, gotten printed and searched, charged and changed, given an armload of mostly-clean sheets, and _finally_ led out with to Tent City by a guard named Miller, who'd muttered something about a labor roster before disappearing.

He was contemplating the cot and the heat and the idiocy of this entire enterprise, trying to figure out how he was going to get a message through into maximum security, when he glanced out in the yard.

Eliot was standing right there, less than thirty feet away, alive, uninjured, and looking very… _bored_ , actually.

Alec's relief was short-lived, though. That boredom? That wasn't a good thing. It meant Eliot's guard was down. And with Donovan standing right next to him, with a shiv up his sleeve or stuck in his waistband, there was a very good chance that anything Alec did could be the distraction that he'd been waiting for.

Hand reaching up to his ear, Alec froze as a stray thought shot through, unbidden.

For all he knew, Donovan and Eliot had history. It made sense. Donovan was connected, somehow, to Moreau. And Eliot was letting the guy get within five feet of him.

 _And you got yourself locked up, burned your best alias just to warn him about a friendly visit_.

It didn't track. Eliot's glances were bouncing off of him like he was an uninteresting part of the scenery. He wasn't shooting him any furious, angry glances, wasn't warning him off.

But if Eliot really _was_ in with Donovan, Eliot wouldn't have any reason to pretend not to see him, wouldn't be feigning confusion as Donovan scowled and pointed in Alec's direction. He'd fill him in, or at least come forward to find out what Alec wanted before going back to tell Donovan what he'd learned.

Alec needed to think. He turned the hearing aid over in his hand, popping the case open in his fist and catching the second earbud as it fell out before reseating the hearing aid.

If Eliot _wasn't_ close with Donovan, he'd keep him at arm's length. Eliot wouldn't show his hand, and right now? That included cluing Donovan in on any allies he had.

And fuck, Alec was in here to warn Eliot about a guy who was probably there to kill him. Screw everything else.

\---

Sanchez, the guard who'd brought him in, was over checking with the warden to see if there was any room on the chain gang for a new intake. He'd be back in a minute.

He approached the fence, casually, as if he were merely checking out the yard.

He was evidently a bit too casual, a bit too focused on appearing non-threatening while he prepared to toss the earbud through the fences-and _man_ he hoped that worked- he needed a string to pull it back in case it didn't.

But suddenly, Sanchez was banging on the fence right in front of him.

"Okay, Mr. Washington," Sanchez said, coming close and speaking loudly, same way everybody did when they noticed the hearing aid. "Tomorrow morning, first thing, you're joining the work crew. In the meantime, you're staying in here. And by _here_ , I mean _not_ within two feet of the fence, okay?"

"Uh, right," Alec stammered, stepping back from the fence. _Shit_. "Sorry."

Sanchez stepped back, heading for the Eliot and Donovan were moving off, back towards the building.

Alec had missed his chance, but didn't linger on it. He began formulating plan B as he watched everyone filter from the yard, heading inside.

Eliot was lagging behind, letting Donovan go ahead of him as they approached the building.

When Eliot reached the door, just before he went out of sight, he turned to shoot Alec a frustrated glare as he shrugged, and it's meaning was clear. _What the fuck are you doing, man?_

The worst part, though, was that he looked worried, and didn't yet know what he was actually supposed to be worrying _about_.

\---

 _Fuck._

Eliot didn't know how they'd done it, he was too far out of the loop, hadn't heard anything about a plan involving Hardison actually getting his ass locked in here.

Maybe one of the deputies had noticed something. Maybe Arlington was smarter than they'd thought.

Maybe this had nothing to do with him. They were still working Santiago's case, after all, and yeah, Eliot was in jail, but it wasn't like he was going to be here very long. But the note hadn't said anything; there'd been no indication that they were worried.

But maybe the timeline had changed. Something, somewhere, some stupid little detail had poked its head up and thrown them all out of whack.

Maybe Parker was crawling through the air ducts right now.

 _Shit_.

There were no vents in the cell, no reason for them when one wall was made of bars. If she was coming, there was no way she'd manage a direct route. And whatever was going on, whatever had broken down in the planning meant that they were no longer just breaking one person out of jail, but two.

 _Morons_.

Eliot pretended to sleep, listening to Donovan flipping through his book on the bunk below, thankfully silent. Small fucking blessing.

He wasn't sure what worried him most. That they'd come up with a stupid plan, which involved planting Hardison out in Tent City, or that they hadn't planned it at all.

And he was locked in, with no way to make sure Hardison didn't do anything even _more_ idiotic. It was bad enough, having Donovan trailing him around like he was scared of his own shadow, but Hardison?

Hardison should've known better. But apparently he didn't. And that was a concern.

\---

Alec's options weren't great. He could tell Sanchez that someone named Donovan was planning a hit on his cellmate, but there was no guarantee that anyone he passed it on to, inside, would do anything about it. If Donovan was thrown into isolation, he'd just have to bribe the right guard to finish his job for him, and there was no way Alec would be able to figure out who, exactly, he'd bribed from out here.

He wasn't going to be able to do anything from Tent City, he needed to get _inside_.

Which meant doing something even more stupid than faking a bench warrant for unpaid tickets, reporting a car stolen that matched the make and model of the one he'd been using, tracking the patrol car down and getting ahead of it.

Luckily, he'd gotten very good at pissing off people who were tougher than him.

\---

 _"My exit's blocked." Parker, still in the records office, sounded like she had company, and Eliot was still stuck in traffic, a few minutes out. "Nate?"_

 _But Nate and Tara were in the middle of closing the deal with Varner upstairs, and Alec was already pushing himself back from his computer._

 _"I got this," he assured everyone, and jumped out of the van._

 _"Two guys," Parker warned him._

 _"Then I got this two more times," he crossed the street, ducking into the employee parking garage and swiping his card to get into the stairwell. Up one level, down a hallway, and he was nearly there. He started singing to himself, just loudly enough that his voice bounced off the cement walls and concrete floor. Coughed a few times, then began to hum, staggering drunkenly. He could hear the guards from here, and could tell when they'd heard him._

 _He was leaning against the wall, one hand on his zipper when they rounded the corner._

 _"What're you doing?" One of them called, but both were already rushing forward._

 _"Nothing, man. Just gotta, you know. Thought this was the bathroom." He looked at the guards straight on, and couldn't help it, he broke into a grin._

 _On the one hand, his cover was broken. On the other, he had their attention._

 _"How y'all doin'?" He said, waving, and began to run._

\---

Eliot was just fine worrying about the mess that Hardison had gotten the team into until the guards came through on the cellblock address system, ordering everyone back into their cells. Moments later, McTeague came by, along with Salvo- the one Hardison'd said was down for the take- working down the other side. The doors slamming shut, cell after cell, made too much noise to overhear the words they were speaking into their radios.

"Lockdown again?" Donovan asked, standing up from his bunk. "What's going on now?"

"Dunno," Eliot said, but from here, he could just make out the guards heading towards the infirmary, maybe the cafeteria. Maybe back into the yard. "Probably another fight," he said, deliberately unconcerned. It made sense, with all the guards off the block, they'd had to secure the inmates.

It made even more sense a few minutes later, as five guards shoved three inmates Eliot didn't recognize past, moving them along the corridor. They were heading towards the stairs. Isolation, then.

"There's that guy again," Donovan commented, craning his neck to see through the bars. "Heading into the infirmary.

Eliot couldn't react, couldn't appear to care.

\---

 _He'd pulled it off. It didn't matter what Eliot was saying._

 _It could've been worse. The bruises were starting to come up, but his right eye was the worst, swollen shut and damp from the ice pack that Tara had given him._

 _"You deserve each and every one of those," Eliot said, holding out a beer and sitting in the chair next to Nate's couch, chuckling. Half of that grin was because he'd enjoyed watching Alec get his ass kicked, no doubt, and the other half was because yes, once again, Eliot had saved the day, and he knew it._

 _The adrenaline had worn off in the car, and Alec wasn't feeling up for the trash talking, not really. "Whatever man, it worked." Maybe this- the running, the punching, the kicking- was why Eliot was usually so cranky._

 _Alec realized he was bracing himself as Eliot got ready to let loose another round of 'I told you so.' Eliot wasn't laughing any more, he was grabbing a magazine off the table and voice was quiet, like he didn't want everyone in the kitchen to hear._

 _"Seriously. When you've got the bad guys chasing after you? Don't lead them into a dead end. You've got to know where your exits are. Got that?"_

 _"Yeah," Alec nodded, and pressed the ice pack back up to his face._

\---

Eliot wasn't around, this time, to joke about the bruises or the bloody nose. Instead, Alec was manhandled into the infirmary while the three guys who he'd managed to goad into jumping him were taken down into isolation.

"Can you hear me?" The nurse, who looked overworked and tired- there was no doctor in sight- was asking, holding out the hearing aid that one of the guards had grabbed off the dirt, and was looking at it skeptically. It only took Alec a moment to figure out why. It had cracked open along the seal, and the earbud he'd hidden was rattling in the casing.

Alec held his breath as he reached out for it with the hand that wasn't holding the towel to his face. Any second now, he was going to be found out and _no_ , he didn't need Eliot there to tell him how stupid his plan had been.

"I'm sorry, I don't know much about these," the nurse enunciated carefully, giving up on his scrutiny and handing it over. "Is it broken?"

Alec shrugged and pressed the casing back together, pressing it into his ear, fidgeting with it to cover his relief. He shook his head slowly and asked for a piece of tape.

"In a minute," the nurse said. "Let me take a look at your hand, okay?"

Reluctantly, Alec let him, but even raising his arm made his hand throb painfully. A few minutes, and too many questions and _far_ too much stinging later, the nurse set the supplies aside and regarded the damage. "Your nose stop bleeding yet?" Alec rocked his head forward experimentally, pleased when it didn't resume. "Okay, well. Looks like you've got a torn ligament here. We're going to need to ice it. Once the swelling's gone down, I'm going to fit you with a brace, mostly to keep you from using it."

The nurse nodded to the guard as he unlocked the key to the office, emerging a moment later with an envelope of Tylenol.

"This should take the edge off a bit, but it's not the good stuff, in case you were hoping."

Alec grinned, shaking his head, and held out his left hand for the pills.

"Okay, well. Looks like it's about mealtime for this wing," the nurse looked up at the clock as the announcement was made, "So I'm going to cut you loose for now. Report in with a guard when you're done. Your new cell's going to be just around the corner."

"But it's just a thumb," Alec pretended to protest.

"One, I can't go chasing you all over the place to drop off ice packs all afternoon, and two, those guys that jumped you outside? They've been here for a few months already. And it's not like we've got a ton of gang activity in here- there's too much turnover for that- but I know they've got friends. On the plus side, you're off the hook for breaking rocks."

\---

A quarter of an hour later, the information had started to filter through, cell to cell to cell, and finally made it to Eliot's ears. There'd been a fight out in Tent City. Some low-level gang bangers awaiting trial had stomped one of the new inmates. Nobody on the block recognized the guy.

"But it ain't like anyone's probably recognizing him now," Trent smirked as he passed the word along to King, in the next cell over.

There was a chance that this game of inmate telephone had gotten the details wrong, getting gorier and gorier with each pass. The estimate he was hearing, the amount of blood that had spurted out of the stab wound was so insane- three gallons was about twice what an average body could even hold, but the fact that it was being discussed at all was bad enough.

He thrust his hands in his pockets when he realized they were shaking.

Eliot's guts churned, and maybe it was instinct kicking in, maybe it was the sudden realization of how fucking powerless he was, shut in here, but his hands grasped the bars, tugging uselessly in frustration. He could fool himself all he wanted, but that wasn't going to get those bars open. He refused to believe that it was really Nate's voice he was hearing in his head, asking him why he hadn't had Hardison's back.

Ten minutes later, the guards were back on the block, and the cells were opened again, and they all filtered out like nothing had ever happened. The checkers game that had been going on down the way resumed, and half a dozen guys retook their seats in front of the television.

By the time the announcement came that it was time to eat, they'd all forgotten about it entirely.

\---

Eliot was the first one in line, heading towards the mess, though he walked slowly as they passed the infirmary, hoping that his luck hadn't gotten so bad that he couldn't get a glimpse inside.

The door remained secure as he passed, and on the other side?

Fuck, Hardison could've bled out on the table already. One room, just fifty feet away, he could've been lying there, eyes open and seeing nothing. Going cold.

 _Instinct's a funny thing_ , he realized, too aware of his movements- and the real reasons _for_ them- as he grabbed a tray from the stack and followed Donovan down the line. He'd eat, because he had to, he needed something to do while he staked out the infirmary door, just visible across the hall.

Everything else was just background- the noise, the food, Donovan's rambling.

Salvo was posted at the mess hall door while McTeague and a guard named Miller circulating between the tables. The infirmary wasn't guarded on the outside, and if Eliot timed it right, while the two patrolling guards were over on the other side of the mess, he could take out Salvo. He'd be destroying any chances of future deals with him, but he could do it.

Grabbing Salvo's key card, then, and ten feet across the hall. Another three or four seconds to get through the door. After that, he'd wing it.

Donovan hesitated, obviously waiting for him before heading off to a table, so Eliot led him towards the back of the room- it meant there was more ground to cover, but it also meant that he'd keep the infirmary in his sights.

The last of the inmates filtered into the mess hall, and over their heads, he could see the infirmary door swinging open.

Trent was in the way, not fucking moving, blocking out anything else until the line began to move again.

From behind him, Hardison stepped into the room, and Eliot caught himself sighing in relief before focusing for inventory.

His right hand looked injured, it was clear in the odd angle of his thumb as he pressed an ice pack to the side of his face. There was no blood seeping through the bandage on his arm, though, and he was walking in here under his own steam. The limp was barely noticeable, probably not even on his radar.

And there was something stuck to his ear that didn't make sense, and it took Eliot a moment to realize what it was. A hearing aid? Seriously?

\---

 _"Hey, man. I been working my ass off up in here, getting all this gear together so ya'll don't wind up getting your asses killed," Hardison complained, snatching the earpiece out of Eliot's grasp._

 _"It'll never work, the thing's fucking huge, man." Nate walked past, glancing dubiously at the mess Hardison had made on his coffee table. "Anyone'll see it from a mile off."_

 _"They're supposed to, and no, I'm not saying it's for everyday use, the thing is damned uncomfortable. It's just another version of the cords and the fake Bluetooth setups y'all already got."_

 _"Which are working just fine," Eliot pointed out. Hardison needed to get a life._

 _"You're damned right they do-"_

 _"But if we've all got the same one, it's going to stand out just as much."_

 _Hardison blinked at him, his jaw clicking shut._

 _"Shut up, man."_

\---

Upon his release from the infirmary, Alec noted that the cafeteria was directly across the hall, already filling up. He waited for the line of inmates to pass, an army of black and white stripes and bored faces, before stepping inside, the ice pack held loosely in his fist.

It took less than a moment to spot Eliot, all he'd had to do was look for the best vantage point with the clearest escape route, and he'd found him at the edge of a long table towards the back. Donovan was sitting next to him. After going through the chow line, he sat down, facing Eliot, one table away.

It wasn't too hard. Alec spent more time than was actually needed looking out the window, turning so Eliot could see the hearing aid sticking out of his ear. When he glanced over, though, Eliot was staring at the ice pack.

Sitting on the far right of the rightmost table, with his back to most of the rest of the room, meant that the only eyes he really had to worry about were Donovan's.

And he'd listened to Sophie, regardless of what she'd thought.

\---

 _Sophie sipped her tea, waiting in the van to keep warm before making her entrance. as they watched Parker move through the crowded night club, circling through the lieutenants as she made her way towards their mark._

 _"Got the third one, where's Connor?" Parker said._

 _"He's just leaving the office," Nate said, from halfway across town. "Just, ah. Mingle. Until he gets there."_

 _"If you're trying to mask a movement," Sophie said, when she noticed Alec's frown- Parker had just barely brushed against a guy, hadn't even slowed down, and yeah, Alec didn't know how she'd done it. "The best way is to hide it with another, more obvious one, that's why it's called the 'bump and lift.' But most of the time, there's actually very little that needs to be hidden from view. As long as you're not obviously concentrating on the move you're making, they're not going to, either."_

 _"So, like, if I was sitting in the middle of Central Park, setting the timer on a bomb, nobody would-"_

 _"I imagine if you were planting a bomb in such a public place, you'd take measures to assure it wasn't detected. House it in a radio, or something of the sort, am I correct?"_

 _"Well-" Alec grinned, catching on._

 _"So yes. People might think you were changing the batteries, or trying to work out some minor technical difficulty, but yes. You could pull it off."_

 _"I'm sorry. You said Hardison could pull it off?" Eliot snorted, and Alec glanced to the main entrance feed to see him stepping back from the line to let two more into the club as a couple stepped outside behind him. Whether he'd broken character to make a point, Alec couldn't tell, but he was already flirting with the redhead that was waiting her turn._

 _"Don't see what the big deal is," Parker pointed out. "I took out a garage with an Easy Bake oven when I was seven."_

\---

He ate- man, it was horrible, but he ate, and, when the conversation at two tables over began to get boisterous, he figured anyone else's attention would be drawn there.

Taking the hearing aid out, peeling back the tape and prying open the casing with his thumb. He pretended to fiddle with the casing, checking for damage as the earbud fell out into his palm. A moment's examination proved that both earbuds were fine, and he was closing the hearing aid up again when there was movement over at Eliot's table. They were getting up, along with everyone else.

The fact that the announcement startled him made it easier to pull off, so too did his injured hand. It was the closest thing to a signal he could manage, but it would have to do.

Piling everything back onto the tray as he stood, he managed to upend it just enough to send the cutlery and the cup clattering to the ground.

Setting the tray aside on the table as he stooped to pick everything up, he nearly dropped the cup again as a striped arm came into his field of vision, just because it was Eliot. He was _there_ , he'd gotten the message, and he'd come through.

Just like Alec had _known_ he would.

Apparently, he trusted Eliot more than he'd thought.

 _Now ain't the time_.

"Earbud, tray," he muttered, looking up in time to see Eliot's concerned glance bouncing off of him as fought a smirk.

"Idiiot."

Eliot was moving off by the time Alec managed to get to his feet again, but it was fine. When he picked up the tray, there was a fork sitting where the earbud had been.

\---

"Auto-initiate Delta," Alec muttered, once he'd been shown to his cell- right next to the infirmary, the last cell on the block- and after too many seconds, he heard the faint crackle that told him that out in the main office, his phone had turned itself on, and comms were on line and signal boosted.

It was only a few seconds more before he heard Nate's voice, loud and irate and hoarse all at once.

"Hardison? You mind telling us all what the _hell_ you are doing?"

"Okay," Alec glanced out to make sure no one was listening, and realized again how badly he'd prepared. "Chill. We're fine. Eliot?"

There was a noise on the line- Eliot humming, slightly distorted. If he was back in his cell, he probably wouldn't be able to talk.

"Okay, look. Eliot? Watch out."

That got a confused grunt from Eliot and an exasperated sigh from Sophie.

" _Hardison_."

"Okay, look." He could calm them down later. "Donovan, Eliot's cellmate, is a hitter for Moreau. Had himself arrested deliberately to get in with close. I didn't have a better way to get word through after I found out, and didn't know if it would keep until Tara got here…" Hardison trailed off for a moment. "Eliot, cough if you got that."

\---

Eliot's relief at seeing Hardison alive and well- and that he'd had some sort of _plan_ \- had faded by the time he'd picked up the earbud. Right now, it was everything he could do to keep quiet as he climbed up into his bunk.

He coughed, once, and thought about punching Hardison in the face.

"Okay, man. Once for yes, twice for no. Has he shown his hand yet? You okay in there?"

Eliot coughed again.

There was a pause before Nate spoke. "How did you know all this?"

"He turned himself in on a wonky case, and when I checked him out, only thing I could find was that he'd been born-and died, at Bethesda General in DC. Check my laptop, it's all there."

Eliot wanted to point out that he could take Donovan, that this wasn't his first rodeo, and he _really_ wanted to tear Hardison a new one, but there were a few things stopping him. First, he couldn't afford to be overheard. Donovan was getting settled in the bunk below, and the block was winding down for the evening.

Second?

He was just starting to realize how well he'd been played. Yeah, he could take Donovan in a fight, easily enough, but…he hadn't been expecting one.

And Eliot knew about timing. About waiting, about letting the target get comfortable enough to get in close. He knew how to pick his moment. Donovan hadn't struck yet, but it didn't mean he wasn't going to.

He wanted to tell himself that it didn't make any sense, but every argument he formed was too easily fought down as he thought back.

So far, Donovan had done everything Eliot would've, were he in Donovan's shoes. Hadn't pressed about Hardison in the yard, and he'd even hung back when Eliot helped clear up the tray, watching for anything there'd been to learn.

Donovan had gotten into a fight, finessed the situation so that he'd be put in Eliot's cell. Smart.

Donovan had gotten arrested on faked charges, yes, but Hardison had done the same. It obviously wasn't impossible. And Hardison wasn't the type to get his ass locked up on a mere _hunch_.

Worse? That Hardison had _needed_ to. Because Eliot let his guard down.

But possibly even worse? How little Eliot cared about all that, just because he could hear that Nate was already spinning out another backup plan, and that Parker sounded jealous that they hadn't waited for her. Just because he could hear Hardison's fucking _voice_.

He wasn't sure he could've spoken if he'd had the _option_.

\---

The shadows of the bars played against the far wall as Eliot lay awake, listening to Donovan sleep. He was quiet.

The rest of the crew had gone off comms when the lights had gone out, but he could still hear Hardison's breathing on the line- he'd faded into sleep a few hours ago.

It wasn't a good thing. It was just familiar enough that Eliot had to fight to keep his eyes open, just distracting enough, listening to him being _quiet_ , that he kept having to remind himself that there were other things, much closer things, sleeping in the bunk below, that needed his full attention.

But he kept his earpiece in.


	7. Chapter 7

Around seven in the morning, Eliot could hear Hardison waking up, and talking to someone, apparently still too tired to realize that his comms were still on. As the conversation went on, though, he must have remembered.

"So let me get this straight. Paperwork's going through for my release, but I'm not getting out of here until I get medical clearance. For my _thumb_." His tone hadn't shifted much, but it was obvious he was making a point of passing the information along to the team. "And the doctor's not due in until after lunch. So what do I do?" There was a pause while someone answered, faint in the background. "Yes sir. I report to meals as scheduled, and listen for the page between three and five. Yeah, okay. Thank you, sir."

"I'll be there with a car," Nate said, and Eliot hadn't shouldn't have been surprised to find that he wasn't the only one on the line, even as early as it was. Though, _right_ , Boston was a few hours earlier.

There was a pause before Hardison spoke; he was probably waiting for the guard to step away. "You're already back in town? How'd it go?"

It had been too easy to forget, in here, that Donovan wasn't the only problem they were facing, and Eliot listened carefully as Nate began to explain.

"Yeah, ah… On that. We got to Boston and set up in the back room of McRory's, and made the first two of them within two hours, when they changed shifts. I kept an eye on the one who'd just arrived while Parker followed the one who'd taken off to an old air-conditioning repair storefront on Dorchester."

"How'd they not see you?"

"I stayed in McRory's back room until they were gone, and Parker's a redhead now."

"Damn, that's gotta be _hot_." Eliot could practically see Hardison's grin from here, and contemplated punching the wall.

"No, but it _burns_ ," Parker complained, irritably. "Did you know you could be allergic to hair dye?"

"Yeah, ah. It'll wash out, right? You didn't get the permanent stuff"

"Anyway," Nate said. "We figured that once the bar closed, there was no way for them to have line of sight from the street without looking suspicious, so I tipped off Bonanno about an arson crew that was back in town on another insurance scam, and went out to meet Parker, who, ah… chased them out of the building."

Sophie cut in with a sigh. "She set it on _fire_."

Parker snorted. " _You_ suggested implicating them in the warehouse case."

"And?"

"And? I was making it look good. Arsonists don't just come out of nowhere. They tend to set a _lot_ of fires."

"Seriously?" Eliot caught himself speaking and froze, remembering that Donovan was lying, probably awake, in the bunk below. "Too fucking early," he muttered, as if bitching to himself about the time.

"Yeah, well. They're out of play for at least forty-eight hours, _whoever_ they are. Hardison, once you're out, I'm going to need you popping through Boston PD's back door, checking these guys out."

"My pleasure."

Eliot smirked, knowing that he was the only one who knew the reason for the misgiving in Hardison's tone. The bolts on the doors all down the block were popping open, and the announcement was coming through that it was time for breakfast.

\---

It was an unspoken agreement that everyone would leave their comm units in for the duration, and though it was stressful, listening to the non-incarcerated members of his team talk about him like he wasn't even there, the chatter was doing more to keep Eliot awake than the weak coffee they served in the mess.

Hardison had filled the team in on everything he knew last night, but it was Sophie who'd apparently given it the most thought.

"Donovan, or whoever this bugger is, made one mistake when choosing his persona," she explained as Eliot broke off the rotten part of his apple before taking a bite. "He chose to present himself as a coward. Use that. Unless he wants to give himself away, he's going to have to stay in character. Eliot, here's what I want you to do…"

"So me and my dad," Donovan was saying. "We were down at the cabin when the storm hit. The roads out of the canyon were pretty much washed out by morning. We wound up stuck there for the better part of a week, missed my sister's wedding and everything."

"When was this?"

Donovan seemed surprised by his sudden interest. "September, 2004."

"Huh. I wasn't going anywhere myself, back then."

"What do you mean?"

"Second, no. _Third_ stint in jail. They said I'd strangled a guard with dental floss."

"Oh." Donovan swallowed. "Did you?"

" _Someone_ did," Eliot smiled darkly. "They weren't ever able to make a case. Don't know if they really tried- the guy had it coming. Real piece of work, him."

"What were you in for at the time?"

"Suspicion of murder. Only the witness disappeared, you know how it goes. There wasn't anything the prosecutor could pin on me."

Donovan's face hadn't gone pale, but he'd taken control of all the tells he could easily manage. He'd gone still, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes widening. His voice, when he answered, was devoid of tone. "Lucky thing."

Eliot let his grin widen, curling his lip just enough to show teeth. "Luck didn't have anything to do with it, man." He shook his head, relaxing into a grin, changing the subject on the off chance Donovan was too distracted to have his guard up. "So how's your case going?"

\---

Between the shave he so plainly needed and the shadows under his eyes, Alec doubted Eliot had gotten any sleep at all. And if he was tired, he might miss something.

Alec unobtrusively took a seat at the table behind Donovan, where he could keep an eye on Eliot and the rest of the room, and set about trying to eat his breakfast- cold eggs, toast that had probably been hard before going through the toaster, though the heat had been lost ages ago, and an apple with more soft spots than he wanted to contemplate.

He listened to Eliot applying Sophie's suggestions. He wasn't warning Donovan off, so much as he was _scaring_ him off. That was good. But Sophie was _better_.

"Now you don't want to scare him off completely, you just need to buy some time, get some space. You want him wary, but not on guard. Lighten up, now, make it clear that you don't consider him an enemy, but instead are trusting him by telling him all this."

Alec scraped some of the eggs onto the toast. With all the other noise, it was easier to hear to Eliot over the comms than it was in person.

"So how's your case going?" Eliot finally asked, and Alec stopped chewing, straining to listen to Donovan's response.

"I've got a meeting with my lawyer this morning, hopefully he'll have something."

"That's good," Eliot nodded.

"Guys," Alec whispered, repeating it for the team. "Donovan's meeting with someone this morning."

"That'll probably be his handler," Nate said. "Okay, ah… Parker? I want you in the parking lot, getting license plates and photos. Look especially for rentals, but don't ignore local vehicles."

"I'm on it," she replied, with a slight jostling on the line. "Heading out now."

Afterwards, the conversation at Eliot's table petered out, and Hardison decided that whoever was picking him up was going to be making a stop at the first drive-through they came across on their way back to the hotel. He took his time finishing the juice, though. It was weirdly comforting. Weak, watered down, like Nana's had sometimes gotten towards the end of the month when the budget was tight.

At the other table, though Eliot's plastic cup sat nearly untouched. It wasn't as if he was likely to share the same associations that Alec had. All the same, Alec decided that he'd go off comms before mentioning the drive-through. There was no reason to rub it in.

\---

As expected, Donovan made himself scarce after breakfast, heading back to his cell while everyone else hung around in the corridor, or in the open commons on the end of the block.

Under the guise of checking out the options- a bunch of bad novels, a few board games that were all probably short a few pieces, and too many social services brochures to count- Hardison caught up with him by the book cart.

"Hey, man," he said, pointing at a board. "You play chess?"

"Badly," Eliot lied, grabbing the set, and followed Hardison to an open table at the back of the room that had a view that went all the way down the block. "Names Cody Gremminger," he introduced himself, extending his hand.

"Aaron Washington. Nice to meet you, man."

"You new? Don't know if I've seen you 'round."

"Just transferred in from Tent City on account of this," Alec said, raising up his braced hand. "Not going to be here long. Getting out today."

"Really? Congratulations, man."

McTeague wandered by as they were setting up the board, but once he was gone, Eliot shook his head. From up close, Hardison's injuries were even harder to ignore, and even knowing it was fake didn't make the taped-up hearing aid look at all encouraging.

"Seriously, man," Eliot intoned, not really sure where he was going with it, whether he wanted to thank him or throttle him or what. "Coming in here?"

"I know. Idiotic. _Possibly_ not needed. _Kind_ of like how running out into Arlington's back yard might have been unnecessary. But I'm gone this afternoon, so lets just worry about _your_ stupid ass." Hardison grinned, holding out two fists for Eliot to choose, and spoke into his comms.

"You're going first," Eliot said, turning the board around and setting the black pawn down where it belonged. "And I'm reserving the right to tear you a new one- loudly and violently, the second I get out of here."

"Looking forward to it."

Hardison opened with a Sicilian Defense, which moderately surprised Eliot until a few moves later, when it all fell apart. Hardison recovered, though, putting a fair amount of pressure on Eliot's queen that forced him to change his focus to the edge of the board, abandoning his previous setup.

If it weren't for Sophie breaking Hardison's concentration, Eliot might have lost.

"Tara's just checked in. She's stopping by for an earpiece in a little while."

"That reminds me," Hardison replied, glancing up from the board. "Go into my stuff and grab the phone with the post- it on it. Tell Tara to stash it in the ladies room out by reception. It doesn't get searched often since the inmates don't have access, but it's got to be hidden I'll switch the comm feed tonight, but we'll need to do it again fairly soon."

"Not a problem," Nate said. "Sophie will be there Saturday, and both of us on Sunday."

"Right," Eliot cut in, grinning as he took Hardison's knight. "So we've got a lot of back and forth planned. But how long am _I_ going to have to stay in here?"

"Depends on what we manage to pull with the evidence. Parker's going out tonight to see what she can find at the ranch and will switch it in at the evidence lockup Sunday night, before Tara's consultant comes in Monday morning."

"So I just sit tight until then," Eliot grumbled.

"No." Sophie sighed. "You stay alert and watch your _ass_ until then."

"Ah, Nate?" Hardison was looking at Eliot now, clearly concerned by whatever he was seeing on his face. "He's going to have to sleep at _some_ point, man."

Eliot shook his head. _I got this_. "Been thinking about it. Donovan can't wait for too much longer. Game he's playing usually takes longer to set up, but since we're locked up, he's got a lot more access to me than he normally would. If I were doing this, I'd have my handler pass me something during the meeting, or maybe through one of the guards. Whatever it is, he can't have that sitting around too long before it gets found. He's going to have to make a play tonight."

"Oh." Hardison said, looking at the board. It was hard to tell if it was Eliot's theory or the fact he'd just been put in check that had him so worried.

\---

 _Only a few hours left_.

Just to be on the safe side, Alec had gone back to his cell after losing the game, and had been icing his hand and trying to thumb through a dog-eared Tom Clancy novel for nearly an hour when he got wind that Donovan had come back from his meeting.

It was impossible to concentrate on the book when he knew that, just down the hall, Eliot, Donovan, and a weapon were in the same cell. He listened carefully, but there wasn't much to hear.

When the announcement came, calling the block down to the mess for lunch, he went in, got through the line, and sat down at the table Eliot and Donovan had used at breakfast, wondering if it was too bold a play. It didn't matter, in the end. Eliot was following Donovan- who'd apparently come to terms with what he'd heard this morning- and they sat down across the room, past too many people to watch.

Lunch was too tiring to be worth the trouble, as Alec listened to Parker reporting in on the cars she saw leaving the parking lot as Nate narrowed down the list of possibilities. Beyond one question, asking Donovan how the meeting with his lawyer had gone, Eliot said nothing that Alec read as important.

It was driving Alec a bit insane, and it was a great relief when the public address system came on again, calling Cody Gremminger to visitation.

Alec watched Eliot go, finally relaxing, feeling like they'd just dodged a bullet.

\---

"You look like hell." Tara was already waiting at the table, grinning as the guards brought Eliot in. "But I'm glad to see you're still breathing."

"Far as day spas go, I've got some complaints for management," Eliot muttered, sitting down and shaking the hair out of his eyes. His second wind had worn off an hour ago. "You have any news for me?"

"Yes. The trial has been set for May 16th."

"That's a month and a _half_."

"And it's a good thing, too. We're going to need a lot of prep time on this, Mr. Gremminger."

"Looks like you've been doing a lot already," Eliot nodded down on the stack of paper piled on the table in front of her. It had been a little disheartening when he'd realized that they were all legal documents and scrawled notes, instead of blueprints and rotation schedules, but he knew that Tara wasn't stupid enough to be that bold.

"I have, but it's slow going. The witnesses have all agreed on their version of the story. I _am_ , however bringing in a forensic specialist from a different county so there's no issue of bias or conflict of interest, I think that's going to be the best bet." Her lips curled into a near smirk, aware that Eliot already knew all this. "Once all the evidence is laid out for all to see, it should shed enough distrust on the stories of the witnesses. It's unlikely that their united front is going to stand under that weight."

"You're casting a pretty wide net, there." Eliot had counted well over a dozen deputies, back at the ranch, and as far as he knew, there was no way of knowing which ones to best lean on.

"We've got some of the best consultants in the business at our disposal, Mr. Gremminger. "They're very smart. I'm confident that they will find something to turn this around."

On the line, Nate sounded cocky. "Thanks."

Tara rolled her eyes and spoke quietly into her comm unit, her voice teasing. "How do you know I wasn't talking about Hardison?"

"Ah. If you say so."

"Hey, man, What do you mean, _if she says so_? Of _course_ she was talking about me."

"Right, because getting thrown in jail and beat up in the middle of a _job_ is the mark of true genius."

Eliot smirked, but Tara's next words wiped it off his face.

"Okay. Now. I'd like to begin your trial preparation. It's important not to let any accidental slips in demeanor stand between you and the jury. A glare at the wrong time, a frown, even shaking your head in disbelief can be misread as an admission of guilt." She sat up, picking up her notepad. "I've drawn up a list of questions that the prosecution is most likely to use, and we're going to go over them until I'm confident that you can answer them sufficiently and succinctly."

Ignoring Eliot's frown, Tara glanced down at her watch and shook her head. "This may take a long time, I'm going to request to extend our visit. I presume you have nothing more pressing going on this afternoon?"

Eliot groaned. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate what she was doing, keeping him in here, but really? He'd rather take his chances back on the block.

\---

It was _hot_ , stepping out into the yard, and there was almost no wind to speak of. No shade at _all_.

Eliot wasn't back, yet, though Alec could hear him and Tara, finally winding things up, and any minute, now, he'd be out here, too.

In a few hours, Alec would be too far away to be of any real help, but in the meantime, he could keep his eyes on Donovan. He sat himself down on one of the benches at the back corner of the yard, where he could see everything that was going on. It was impossible to tell if Donovan was waiting, pacing slowly around the perimeter, or just bored. The only time he broke his pattern was when he sidestepped to avoid the two inmates who were lazily kicking a ball back and forth.

"He probably stashed the weapon in his room," Parker answered, after he'd asked her what he should be looking for.

"Can't get in there without a guard looking over my shoulder," he replied, taking his eyes off Donovan as he began to circuit again towards him. "What about tells, should he have any?"

"Watch his hands, if they're going to his pocket, or he's scratching at his ankle. Could be something in there that's making itself known to him."  

Donovan didn't do either of these things, though, and as he walked past, Alec realized that the material of the uniforms- though dizzying in black and white- was actually fairly flimsy, the fabric too thin to hide a pocket's contents with any real certainty.

"I'm not sure, but I think he's clean."

"Okay. Eliot," Nate said. "Tell the guard you want to stop back at your cell to grab a book or something."

Eliot coughed, twice, and a moment later, Alec could see why.

"Too late," Alec muttered, watching him step out through the opening door, blinking against the sunlight, just as Donovan was again coming up to the building. "Hey El. Donovan at eleven o'clock."

"Hey, how's it going?" Eliot said, but it was impossible to catch Donovan's side of the conversation. Alec _really_ should've gone with the ambient outer microphones instead of the bone-conduction ones for this setup.

"Yeah, my lawyer wanted us to start prepping for the trial… A month and a half from now, yeah… Sure, what the hell…"

Alec was so busy trying to fill in the gaps that that he didn't notice the half-deflated soccer ball coming at him until it was almost too late.

"Sorry," one of the guys from before, running up to chase after it, and it took Alec a moment to remember that the hearing aid was the cause of his shouting. "Thought you were watching."

"Nah, man. Just thinking."

"We're setting up some kickball back here, still looking for players." His eyes were still focused curiously on the hearing aid, but he shrugged. "You want in?"

Alec shook his head and stood up, holding up his hand. "Probably not a great idea, but thanks." He strode off, slowly, towards the building, where he was least likely to be hit by a stray ball, and leaned against the cement blocks.

Fifty feet to Alec's right, the guards were talking to each other from opposite sides of the fence, complaining lazily about the heat. Eliot and Donovan were halfway through another circuit, just passing the side of the yard where teams were being selected for the game.

He would've said that the air had gone still, if it hadn't been that way when Alec had got there, but that was beside the point. Right now, he was the _only_ one who had eyes on Eliot or Donovan, and right now, despite everything he'd rationalized, he _knew_.

It was about to go down.

\---

Eliot was ready for it when Donovan finally made his move.

They were out in the yard, pacing the perimeter, and had just turned to walk along the far edge of the fence. Hardison had moved back towards the western side of the building, keeping clear of the pickup game to the south and the guards gathered at the eastern corner.

" _Eliot_ ," Hardison's voice cut sharply in his ear, but the warning came too late.

Donovan struck exactly when Eliot would have, lunging at him with a right hook that glanced off Eliot's turning shoulder. He back-stepped before coming back at him, but Eliot was already shifting, getting low, using Donovan's momentum against him, grabbing at his hips and throwing him off balance.

Eliot stepped close, crowding him, trying for the hundredth time today to assess Donovan's capabilities. _This_ was where he should've drawn out a weapon, should've been _brandishing_ it, trying to shake Eliot's nerves at the moment his defenses were down as he stood.

Eliot could feel the crowd gathering, coming in close. He didn't look, but guessed that the guards were already on their way, but he couldn't worry about them right now. Donovan was already on his feet, shifting his weight, calm and measured and smiling again, as if relieved to be finally showing his hand.

"Back _off_ ," came a shout from somewhere behind the crowd- the guards- and any second now, they'd be breaking it up. Both of them would be thrown in isolation, but that would only be a temporary solution. This, _here_ , was Eliot's best chance to deal with it, before Donovan had a chance to get his hands on something more useful than his own fists.

Lunging forward, he struck with his left, coming up on Donovan's unprotected right but not connecting as sharply as he'd wanted. Continuing the motion, though, he stepped past so he was behind Donovan, already spinning and kicking out the back of his knee.

The crowd was too fucking close- Eliot had to sidestep at the last moment to avoid plowing into Trent- but as he spun back, he saw that Hardison had fought his way to the front, clearly torn between jumping in and focusing on an exit strategy.

Eliot growled in irritation an he dropped down on top of Donovan, pressing his forearm against his throat as he got three solid punches in, taking a jarring blow to the jaw in the process.

And out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shiv. Jagged metal glinting dully through the rust, clenched in a moving fist, and it was too late to stop it, there was no way to-

Eliot threw himself off, back and away, already moving, but the crowd had broken into chaos, scattering as the guards finally broke through.

It was too late, though. Hardison was already falling to his knees, his arm clenched over the bloody stain that was beginning to spread.


	8. Chapter 8

_What's black, white, and red all over?_

 _Give up?_

 _Me._

Alec didn't want to look down, didn't want to see, but as he stared around, trying to find something else to focus on, he found nothing that made sense. A flurry of movement, arms tugging at him, people shouting. Eliot, lost behind bodies, no way to tell if Donovan had managed to take him out as well and it was all buried under the _pain_ of moving, of _not_ moving and just trying to _breathe_.

He couldn't even tell which of the guards was trying to apply pressure to the wound- he thought it was McTeague, calling for a medic, but in between the shouts he thought he was beginning to hear the sounds of fighting, of Eliot's _he started it_ , loud in his year, and a _you gotta let me- I've was a medic in the army_.

Alec remembered, vaguely, a long time ago, when a doctor he hadn't known was Eliot had nearly stabbed a hole in his throat. He'd been lying on a much nicer floor than this.

Then Eliot was there, in his ear and in his face, telling him to stay calm, not panic, only it was a little too late for that, now, wasn't it, and did he really know what he was doing? And where was the doctor?

Shit, there wasn't one, not until later.

"Nurses are on their way, gonna get you up to the infirmary. Just need to slow down, stay calm." Eliot was shoving him back to the ground, pressing his hand over the wound and making it _scream_. "Sorry, I know it hurts, man, but the harder you breathe, the more you'll bleed. You're fine, okay? I've seen worse, just focus on anything but what you're feeling right now, concentrate on… my voice, you got that?"

Alec took a shuddering breath and decided to focus on the fact that this was probably the first time he'd ever heard Eliot babbling.

"Name's Gremminger, we met this morning. What's your name again?" Eliot asked, as much to warn him to stay in character as anything else.

"Aaron," he managed, after thinking about it for a moment. "Washington."

"Right, nice to meet you again. Medics are on their way," he promised, but the worried look he shot towards the building wasn't encouraging. "You hurt anywhere else?"

"No."

"Okay," Eliot cocked his head towards the guard- Sanchez, Hardison remembered, from over in Tent City.

"You see who did this to you?"

"No. Came from the side, I was distracted. Couldn't-" Alec broke off. He hadn't seen anything, he'd thought the threat had been in _front_ of him, not sneaking up from the side, and he'd barely talked to anyone else, there wasn't any reason-

-Donovan had an accomplice. Stupid, not to think about it before now, he had to warn Eliot but there were more people here, now, the nurse from the infirmary, and a few others, pushing Eliot aside to take over, shoving him onto a field gurney, forcing him to lay down as it began to sway when they stood.

They were moving fast, and he lifted his head, trying to see Eliot, but couldn't make him out.

He dropped his head back, hand again on the wound- _fuck_ , he could still _feel_ it bleeding- and just tried to keep breathing.

\---

Eliot was only dimly aware of Nate's voice in his ear, but couldn't make his mouth move to answer. Not that he was given much of a chance, between the guards grabbing him again and dragging him forcefully after Hardison. Once they were inside, though, they took a hard left, down through the block and down the stairs.

It wasn't like he hadn't known this was coming. But he hadn't thought he'd be going down there with Hardison's blood on his hands.

\---

"Don't care if you didn't start it," Miller said, before Eliot had even had a chance to argue, "but you're here anyway for the next 24 at least. After that, it depends on what we find on the cameras, so don't bother bitching, and strip down."

Eliot nodded, feeling numb, and did as he was told, careful not to jostle the earpiece as he pulled the shirt over his head.

He didn't have enough surprise left over to notice that, after wiping his bloody hands on the uniform and handing it over, Miller made no move to get him a fresh change of clothes.

A few minutes later, Miller was shutting the door- heavy steel, with only a window and a tray slot- and Eliot was alone in his own headspace for the first time in what felt like years.

It didn't last long. He'd just eased himself down against the far wall when he realized that he was still on comms, that everyone was talking at once. He let the noise wash over him as he took in the fixtures- a low wattage bulb, too high to reach, and a bucket in the corner that didn't look to have been cleaned properly since the last guy was in here. There was a drain in the middle of the floor, and stains on the walls that he didn't want to contemplate.

"Damn it, Eliot! What the fuck _happened_?" The words sounded twice as harsh coming from Sophie's panicked voice.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anything, any more. Not even his own hands, clenched on his knees.

"Hardison got stabbed during the fight. Donovan's got an accomplice, I think. I'm in the SHU, Hardison's up in the infirmary, and that's all I know."

Nobody replied, and as far as Eliot was concerned, they were _done_ talking. Before anyone could prove otherwise, he dug out his earpiece- his hands were starting to shake, now that the adrenaline was wearing off- and tossed it into the corner.

\---

Alec was conscious for most of the ride over, but things got choppy. Flashes here and there, the ambulance ceiling, a corridor, bright lights, people leaning over him. Nate and Sophie's voices out in the hallway, there for a minute and gone, maybe imagined. He tried reaching up to his ear, but his hand was clumsy, already being maneuvered down again by one of the nurses. He hadn't even realized his earbud had fallen out.

They were here, it meant they knew what was going on, and it either meant that Eliot was okay, or that there wasn't anything they could do for him, but it was probably the former.

Alec closed his eyes, let the doctor believe he was listening to his repeated orders to try and relax. He dropped out of it again a few moments later, dimly aware that he still hurt, badly.

\---

 _This is insane_.

Over the past year, there'd been three separate occasions in which Eliot could have killed Moreau, but he'd held back. Told himself he wasn't _that_ man anymore. He'd promised himself that he'd tell the team, give them a head start on taking him down.

But he'd kept quiet. He'd _known_ what telling everyone would've entailed. They would've asked what else he knew, and _how_ he'd learned it. They would've wanted to know _everything_.

The first time he nearly got Hardison killed, they asked, but they hadn't pressed.

Maybe they should've. Maybe he should've just told Parker what she'd wanted to know. Explained _exactly_ the levels he'd stooped to and the thousand reasons they shouldn't have trusted him in the first place. Maybe Hardison wouldn't have gotten killed _twice_ in as many months.

 _You don't know that he's dead_.

He stared at the earpiece. It would be so easy to find out. The team was probably on it. They'd have information, they'd know. But Eliot wasn't stupid. He'd gotten Hardison hurt. Again. He wasn't their friend right now.

The only way to know that they were still on the same channel, that anyone was still even listening, would be to put the damned thing back in and hope. And if he was going to go that far, he'd have to be ready to fucking _speak_ , and whatever he said? If this was going to be the last communiqué, it needed to be worth hearing, something they could use. If he couldn't be their friend any more, he could at least be their ally.

Eliot closed his eyes. There wasn't anything useful down here. He needed to think.

In the yard, he'd been focused on Donovan, waiting for him to make his move. He'd been keeping an eye on the periphery, but not as much as he would've been if he hadn't memorized it so well. Everything had looked exactly like it always did, the clusters of inmates, the guards talking through the fence, the pickup game getting set up in the middle of the yard.

It hadn't gotten confusing until Donovan attacked, and his attack had been _off_ , sloppy. Too much motion, too little effect. Even if he'd managed to take Eliot out, there would've been no way he would've gotten away with it. And the guy was good, the planning that had gone into it was too strong to be the lead-in for such a weak end game.

And of course he'd had an accomplice. Only. _No. Wait. Hang on_.

Hardison was the one who'd gotten hit. Not Eliot.

He picked up the earpiece.

\---

"Nate?"

"Damn it, Eliot," Nate answered, exasperated, but _there_. "Where have you been?"

"Absolutely nowhere. What's going on? How's Hardison?"

"He's in surgery. They had to transfer him over to Maryvale Hospital, the jail's clinic is too understaffed and under-stocked to, ah… Anyway, they're going to be at it for a few more hours."

"Do you- I didn't- " Eliot broke off, took a breath and started again. "Did they say what happened?"

"Yeah, he, ah. The knife hit a renal artery, and apart from the blood loss, they're worried about his kidney."

 _Fuck_. "Is he stable?" He felt his heart ricochet off his ribcage in the silence that answered.

"They're working on it," Nate eventually admitted, but then his voice hardened. "Right now, we've got to talk. I need some answers. Parker? Sophie?" Neither of them said anything, but Eliot could hear two earpieces being removed and a little less noise on the line.

"Nate, I-"

"What the _fuck_ happened?"

"Donovan made his move in the yard. I was fighting him when someone in the crowd went for Hardison."

"Any idea who the accomplice was?"

"Yeah. It was Donovan." When Nate didn't respond, Eliot continued. "It didn't make any sense. He got himself thrown in here on charges that wouldn't stick more than a few days."

"Right, so he could get out when the job was done. Same as Hardison."

"Exactly. So why throw all that away for a blitz attack in broad daylight, with so many witnesses, just to take someone out who isn't your target?"

" _Oh_ ," Nate said.

" _Donovan_ was a distraction. _He_ was the accomplice, _I_ was the collateral, and _Hardison_ was the target."

"And you don't know who it was, or why they did it."

"No idea. I'm sorry."

He wasn't expecting Nate to answer right away.

"Ah, okay," Nate began. "I'll be there Sunday, and I'll see if I can get down to see you then, but. Look. I'll phone the girls in a minute, get them back on comms, but there's something I need to know, first. Before it went down. Did you have _any_ idea that Hardison was at risk?"

"No," Eliot sighed. "And I should've thought of it, I mean, with all that set-up, they could've made it a lot harder for anyone to figure Donovan out, but they didn't. I just didn't see it. I'm sorry."

"We focused on Donovan because they _wanted_ us focused on Donovan," Nate summarized, but Eliot knew better than to think that they were done talking.

"Nate. Before. Back at the pool, Hardison nearly drowned because-" He hadn't made it to the apology, yet, when Nate cut him off.

"Eliot, I know you wouldn't have let it come to that. You would've broken cover first, done what you had to. Same as you did in the warehouse."

 _The warehouse_. It was becoming a euphemism.

"Yeah. About that," Eliot leaned his head against the concrete wall, closed his eyes, saw the muzzle flash and the feeling of slick concrete sliding under his knees, the gunfire impossibly loud, the gun's weight too easily remembered in his hands. "The warehouse. What I did. I'm why Hardison's quitting the team, aren't I?"

"From what he said, he knows that it burned down, and that you and I aren't telling him everything. So I'm as much to blame on that front as you are, but..."

"Alright." Eliot sighed, yanking at his hair. "Look. When he comes out of it, you can tell him. I know what I said, before, but. There's no reason the team has to lose him just because you're covering for me. You got that?"

And this was where Nate was supposed to say something along the lines of _don't worry about it. I've got a plan. We'll figure it out_. Instead, there was a brief pause. "You sure?"

It wasn't the first lie he'd ever told, but after that, honesty was suddenly easier. "Yeah. And tell him I'm sorry I didn't have his back."

"Soon as he's up for it, I'll let him know."

\---

If another medical professional saw fit to waste his time telling him that he was going to be fine, Alec was going to scream. He just wanted them _gone_ already, but finally, it looked like they were satisfied that he fully understood the call button and the bed controls and the fact that he was going to be in here for a while, and asked him what he'd been waiting to hear.

"Are you feeling up to a few visitors?"

"God, yes."

\---

Sophie was clearly still worried, and Nate wasn't looking thrilled to be here or anything, but more importantly, he looked _furious_. It was more of a relief than Alec would've thought, and it was the perfect excuse to cut Sophie's worrying off, derail it into something useful.

Nate was one step ahead of him, as usual. "Did you see who stabbed you?"

Alec shook his head. "Distracted. Eliot. He okay? Lost my comm."

"He's fine, they've got him in isolation right now, but he's got a new theory."

"Yeah?"

"Eliot was never the target. Too much setup for such obvious collateral damage."

"Crap. What did we miss?"

"I have no idea. Eliot's in isolation and you're out of play, so it's going to be Sophie and I spreading the word that's our main in, for now, at least for the next few days."

"Few days?"

"Soon as you're up to it, I'm going to need you online."

"You're going to have to get a computer past Nurse Ratched first."

Sophie raised a mildly affronted eyebrow, as if insulted by the meager challenge, but then she grinned. "I think we'll manage." It was surprising, how much better that made Alec feel. Which Nate had to go and spoil not thirty seconds later.

"Ah, yeah. Sophie? You mind giving us the room, just for a minute?"

Sophie nodded. She'd clearly known this was coming, at least. As for Alec, he could feel the coil of unease winding up through the painkillers.

"Look, ah. I wasn't entirely open with you before. You wanted to know what happened back at the warehouse." Nate sighed, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels as he studied Alec. "We'd gone there looking for the auction, but we found our Italian friend instead. That much you knew." Alec nodded, still holding his breath. "Thing is, she wasn't the only one there. There were about fifteen guys, all armed, and all prepared. It was a trap. They'd gone back around us and set up a kill box, and the only way out of there was." Nate winced, not wanting to say what he was obviously thinking. "He didn't want to do it. But he knew it was the only way out of there. One of them had gotten too close, Eliot managed to disarm him, and then, well. He did his job. They fired first, if it counts for anything. He did what he did to get us out alive."

Alec stared at the ceiling. It was surprisingly close to what he'd been thinking, but Nate's description of it, well. It was a different perspective, and he didn't even know where to begin. "I don't get it," he said, instead, because it was a lot easier than focusing on the fact that Eliot had killed so many people. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Eliot. He didn't want anyone to know, and I haven't asked, or anything, but all that, with Moreau, was already sending him for a loop."

He remembered the park, the way his toes squished wetly inside his shoes as Eliot tried to justify what he'd done, and then tried to explain away his _history_ with Moreau. He remembered not buying it, mostly. But he'd almost forgotten about Eliot's face a few moments later, the manic look in his eyes. _"Don 't ask me that, Parker."_ It had almost sounded like begging. _"If you ask, I'll have to tell you."_ And despite what Alec had been thinking at the time, _Sophie_ could lie that well, but Eliot? Maybe. Maybe not.

"So, yeah," Nate finished. "I guess what I'm saying is, do what you've got to, but." He shrugged, glancing up at the noise of footsteps passing by in the hall and looking anywhere but at Alec. "Anyhow. Now you know."

Alec closed his eyes. He didn't want to make any promises. "I'll think about it."

"One other thing," Nate said, from over by the door. "Whatever you decide, go easy on him. He knows he fucked up again," he gestured around the room. "You know. All _this_. He told me to tell you he's sorry. For what it's worth."

"He's not the one who stabbed me," Alec opened his eyes again, after a moment, when Nate didn't respond. He was just in time to see a flash of relieved recognition flit across Nate's face, though, like he'd caught on to something nobody else could see, yet.

After Nate left, Alec wondered about that for a very long time.

\---

He thought about Hardison, lying in an emergency room bed, hopefully still breathing. They would've gotten the bleeding under control by now, right? Parker would be there waiting, red-eyed, nervous and about to explode, making herself small in a bedside chair, too freaked to actually approach the bed. Nate, grey-faced and sweating, twitching at the sound of the monitors, jumping at the sounds of the nurses in the hall. Sophie would be holding it together for all of them.

He thought about how easily he'd been mislead, distracted, and he thought about the three-strike rule.

Eliot had a long time to think, locked down in here. The walls were blank, the room was dark, and there wasn't much by way of distraction beyond the one meal that had been slipped through the slot.

Which was probably why he startled back to full awareness only a few hours later, hearing the tray slot open. The guard, Miller by the sounds of it, was speaking through the door. "Got something for you, Gremminger," just as the black and white stripes of the uniform were shoved through the slot, tumbling to the floor. They were followed by a new change of the horrid pink underwear a second later. When he picked them up to get dressed again, a slip of paper fell out.

One line. Block print. Probably Donovan's.

 _Your friend didn't have to die. But bad things happen to people who screw over law-abiding citizens. Consider the clothes a consolation prize, and the last kindness you're likely to see for a while._

Frozen, still crouched over the clothes, he stared at the note.

 _No_. He would've heard. They would've said something if Hardison-

But they hadn't been on comms for a while, now. Something could've happened. A false start in the operating room. Infection setting in. Two weeks in the hospital suddenly becoming a few days in the morgue while dispassionate staff decided what to do with the body.

Sophie would be the one, probably, to call Hardison's family. Parker would be off the grid entirely, Nate in the bottom of a bottle somewhere. Maybe things had fallen apart even more than he'd suspected, maybe they were shutting him out completely. Deliberately.

"Hey, guys?" No response, and he tried to tell himself he hadn't been expecting one. "Guys?" It still fucking _stung_.

He dressed himself, needing the distraction, and began to pace. He needed to get the hell out of here, needed to find out what was going on. He wanted to get out, into Hardison's recovery room, just to see for himself, just in case there was a chance-

He needed to kill Donovan- he'd slipped this far already, no sense pretending any more, and he'd get to it the moment Donovan had told him everything, made himself disposable. He needed to _do_ something.

 _You've already done enough already_.

"Anyone there?"

Still no response.


	9. Chapter 9

Eliot was going to kill Donovan the moment he got out of here. The moment Donovan gave up the name of Hardison's attacker, he was _done_ for. It wasn't like it would be the first time Eliot had killed someone. This year, even.

He wondered what time it was. Someone should've been on the line by now.

And as if hearing him, someone was. A click, the faint low buzz in the background, the drag as the earpiece was inserted, and then, "Eliot?"

"Hardison?" Eliot grinned in relief, since it wasn't as if anyone could see him. "You're okay?"

"Gonna be in here for another week or so. Then a few more weeks at home in bed. Bored, but in one piece." He sounded tired; his voice was a bit slurred. "Think they're even going to let me keep my kidney."

It took a moment for the relief to sink in. "I'm glad to hear it. Look. I'm sorry I didn't figure on Donovan-"

"It's cool," Hardison cut him off, quietly. He sounded distracted. _They're probably pumping the good stuff into him_. "Listen. Sophie brought be an earpiece last night. I figure Nate will be on the line in a while, but. Look. About the warehouse. Nate filled me in."

"Yeah?" Eliot held his breath. He hadn't expected for Nate to get to it so quickly. He wasn't ready for this.

"And we're cool."

"Just like that?" He knew better than to press, but judging by the lengthy pause before Hardison answered, Eliot wasn't the only one wondering.

"It's enough to work with," Hardison eventually decided, and really. It was more than Eliot had been expecting, and a _lot_ more than he probably deserved. But he didn't tell Hardison any of that, didn't thank him, either. Instead, he glanced down at the note in his hand and changed the subject.

"You know, Donovan sent me a note. He thinks you're dead."

"Well, that answers one thing. He doesn't know that we're hooked up on comms." There was a rustling on the line. "Speaking of which, Nate's here." Eliot could hear him coming online. "Did the note say anything else?"

"Only that bad things happen to people who screw over law abiding citizens."

"Interesting wording," Nate muttered. "Hey Eliot. So. The note. It's sounding like a revenge thing."

"Yeah, but for what? Taking out Moreau?"

"I don't know," Nate replied, speaking as if the admission pained him. "Eliot, any insights?"

It was hard not to hear the accusation in the question, harder to ignore the fact that Hardison was on the line. There was no way of knowing if their tentative truce would stand up to this.

But if he'd spoken up before about Moreau, maybe there wouldn't have been a need for such a truce in the first place.

"Moreau's not the kind of guy you avenge. He doesn't attract _that_ kind of loyalty, it's why he got so far. Right now, there's probably a power grab going on, lots of fighting to take over his interests. It doesn't make sense for them to come after the people who created it. I'm guessing that most who know him are relieved, more than anything."

Out in the corridor, he could hear a door grinding open and footsteps. Two guards, it sounded like McTeague and Miller, and they were coming his way.

"What do you mean?" Hardison asked.

There were a lot of things he could say, here, and he shied from most of them. "People didn't work for him because they liked him, they worked for him because he didn't give them a choice. Can't talk. Guards're here."

\---

Alec didn't like the fact that Eliot had gone off comms, and he wasn't liking the looks of this any better.

"Nate, man," he knew he sounded weak, close to whining, but he had to know just what Nate thought he was doing, manhandling Alec's laptop like that. "What're you doing?"

"Working. Go back to sleep."

He didn't mean to- odds were, the moment he looked away, Nate would manage to destroy his entire system- but the hospital was quiet, the sky creeping in through the blinds still dark, and Alec's eyelids were too heavy, anyhow.

\---

 _Eliot's pacing, wall to door to back again, impatient and frustrated. It's getting harder to see him, the darkness closing in, the room sinking in space, and eventually, he'll be gone. This place, it runs on a program, he can stop it happening if he can find the right chunk of code, stop this from happening, but he's just not seeing it. Nate and Parker are talking in his ear, telling him to hurry up, Sophie's heels are clicking on the tile floor behind him, and he just needs another minute, he's got this, he can do this-_

Maybe it was the drugs, or the fact that he'd fallen asleep on comms, but Alec's heart pounding in his chest jettisoned him into sharp awareness. He felt for his earpiece, digging it out with uncoordinated fingers quickly, before he could hear anything on the line.

He didn't want to know if he talked in his sleep.

\---

It wasn't until after Dr. Presley was finished with him- which had seemed to take _hours_ \- and he'd drunk his breakfast, that Alec finally found out what Nate was up to.

It was a good thing they still had him on the drip. Nate was still leaning over his laptop, no doubt still banjaxing the drive into oblivion, but the morphine was making it a lot harder to care. Nate must've been expecting the question, because before Alec could say anything at all, he was turning the computer around, showing him the screen.

"Hey, ah. Hardison? You know how you've got JARVIS monitoring the Boston PD, tracking access logs for old investigations?"

"Yeah?"

"There's been a lot of action over the last few days, and it looks like it's mostly older cases. Is that unusual?

"Anything being added to the cases?" He pressed the button to raise himself up a bit, and gestured for Nate to move his leftover liquid breakfast away. A few moments later, his fingers found the keyboard for the first time in _far_ too long. _Ain't never leavin' you again, baby_. Needing to see for himself, he backed out of the screen Nate had been on to check the update log file. There was a phone number here, a date there. Nothing that tied back to them, as far as he could see, and he told Nate.

"On any of them? Is that normal?"

"Ah, not really…unless…" He switched over to his notification history and tracked down, frowning. There was a pattern here, he could see it. He just wasn't _seeing_ it.

Nate's hands were folded. He was forcing himself not to prod or interrupt, but they were both still wearing their earbuds.

Eliot, as it turned out, was back on the line again, and he had no such compunctions. "What's going on?"  
He sounded irritated, the way he got sometimes at the end of a long job gone bad.

"Gimme a minute." Taking a breath, he forced himself to focus, scanning through the notifications. And then he saw it. " _Aw, hell no._ " There were a _lot_ of cases being reopened. Though not all of them had anything to do with their past jobs, which was a relief, it was an _awful_ lot of attention in their general vicinity.

"What is it?"

He brought up the police department's website, got onto the intranet system using Officer Laurie Burke's login. "Quarterly reviews. They're going through and looking for any easy loose ends to bump their stats up before the deadline. It's how they compile data for promotions and raises, things like that."

"Huh," Nate sat back in his chair. "Who else would know about it, would know what they were looking for, and have access to the system?"

"Anyone in the PD, but that's useless. Doesn't mean anything, either. See, their security's weak, and the hack? It's _easy_ , man. Wouldn't take a genius to get in there, and besides, that would probably be the easy part."

He heard Eliot snort, then cough, and quashed the urge to ask him if he was all right, but Eliot spoke first, anyway. "So what's the hard part?"

"Knowing what information is important, being able to pick out the relevant data from literally a hundred different files."

"Okay, so someone, out there, ah, they've got this figured out. Does that ring any bells?"

"Not really. They're smart, whoever they are, and resourceful, if they're the same person who sent Donovan in."

"Which means that they've got money," Nate picked up the trail. "So whatever we did to them didn't wipe them out." Alec lay back again, only just now realizing how painful his position had been. _This is going to be a long few weeks_. He thumbed the button on the morphine control.

"Okay." Nate was rubbing his hands together. "So as it stands, we've got a few of our Boston area jobs, in with the mix. We've got Santiago's case against Arlington. Now. Eliot's arrest wasn't planned, neither was you going in after him, but they got someone in to try and take you out. Means they're insanely quick on the uptake, and _very_ responsive."

"Or just that they're hip to who we are and how we operate," Eliot added, and Alec was too out of it to know why Nate was staring at him like he was waiting for confirmation.

He considered it for a while. "The police reports on our cases, taken as a whole, might be enough to give someone an idea how we'll all behave."

Nate rose, and began to pace, back and forth. "Okay, so fine. Someone hires a bunch of hitters, sends them after us. Was Donovan one of the ones that you derailed coming into Boston?"

Alec brought up the Maricopa county inmate tracking system and compared it to the data he'd gathered on the other hitters. "Fuck. Yes."

"Right. So, he's thwarted, but either he or his accomplice knows where we're going next. How? What kind of data trail were we leaving?" Nate paced, then his face slackened in realization. "We all traveled on the same flight."

 _Doubtful_. Alec shook his head. "Same flight, five different booking transactions backdated to different dates, five different aliases and credit accounts. Messy to track. I'm guessing they caught us from the other end, knew that we'd go after Arlington."

"That's even _more_ complicated," Eliot cut in. "How would they figure it out?"

He had a point, though Alec wasn't going to admit it.

Nate, though, pressed the question. "Maybe Branson was tipped off, told to approach us for the Santiago case? Like Chaos did last winter?"

Just to be sure, Alec looked up Mason, Colin, inmate identification number 093428. "But. No. Ain't him. He's still locked up and not allowed anywhere _near_ a computer."

"On paper, at least," Eliot reasoned.

Alec closed his eyes, wanting to go back to sleep. "I could check for any other hacks in the PD system, see if his rank-ass style's been showing up anywhere, but he'd need a better system than whatever's sitting in a prison computer lab."

"Maybe later," Nate decided, finally taking pity on him and swiveling the table to the side. Alec forced his eyes open again just as Sophie opened the door. She smiled at Alec, but spoke to Nate.

"Have you heard from Parker?"

"She's already in play," Nate patted his pockets, nodding to himself. "I'm heading out to meet her."

Alec wanted to know what they were talking about, but he was riding the wave and fading out. Sophie brushed a hand along his arm, settling herself into the chair. He'd ask her when he woke up.

\---

Eliot hated being locked down. Fighting back would've been pointless- there'd been no sense busting heads only to get boxed in two floors up- so all he'd been able to do was force himself _not_ to fight. He'd deflected a few hits, here and there, when Miller got too close, but he'd been careful not to push back to the point where they'd have an excuse.

McTeague clearly hadn't been as comfortable with it. He'd held back, guarding the door, watching Miller's back, but not stepping in. He'd just been doing his job. _This_ was just a talking- to. A reminder.

And Miller hadn't been all that good at his job, anyway. _Sophie_ could've done more damage. Eliot had come out of it with just a few bruises, a scrape on his elbow from being dragged against the wall, and a definite understanding. _Yes, Sir, no fighting in the yard, no, Sir, the words of a hundred cons don't mean shit, yes, Sir, I understand if there's any connection found to the stabbing it will be brought up during sentencing._

He hadn't even bothered to remind them that usually, a trial came first.

But he did wonder why they were bothering to look into it.

\---

Alec woke up to find Parker grinning at him, too many colors up in the room behind her, and an ache deep in his side.

"Finally. I've got some bad news and some I-don't-know news," she said, once Alec blinked a few times and the shapes slotted themselves into order. There were balloons on his nightstand, along with a stuffed lavender bear that was the most mortifying thing he'd ever seen, though the six pack of orange soda it was leaning against took a bit of the edge off the sting.

Nate was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and smirking as he watched Sophie, who was bent over something in her lap. Her back was to Alec, she was trying to hide whatever it was she was doing.

"Sophie?"

"In a minute," she muttered.

Nate stepped forward, like he'd been waiting to ask. "So what's the _I don't know_ news?"

"I got into the evidence lockup at the jail. _Super_ easy. The shiv," she gestured at Alec's side, "was really basic, just some glass and masking tape wrapped around to make a handle. I didn't take it out of the bag, but the paperwork said that it had been processed. No fingerprints."

"And?"

"And the tape was _wrapped around the handle_. You ever try taping anything to anything without getting your fingers stuck?" She looked around, frowning when nobody answered. "Believe me, if they wanted to, they could've found prints. So they're in there, under a few layers of tape. If we replace it with a replica, we'll be able to find out who the prints belong to."

There was a knock on the door, and one of the nurses- Emily, her name was- came in, and everyone left so he could be checked over in peace, palming their earbuds as they left.

\---

Alec had forgotten that Eliot was still on the line. He'd been silent through the exam, though the teasing sounded a big forced. "Hey Hardison, you done with your sponge bath yet?"

Emily was just leaving, so it was a moment before he could reply. "That's rich, coming from a guy wearing pink underwear." It hadn't sounded so awkward in his head. Eliot wouldn't have let him live it down, had he been here, but he couldn't see Alec's face over the comms.

"What can I say, gotta make my own entertainment in here."

As the others came back in, sliding their earbuds back into place, he could see the flowers Parker was now carrying. They looked a little beaten around the edges, and one side of the bouquet was flattened. Sophie followed, and under the coat she had draped over her arm, he could see a piece of wood sticking out.

"What's that?" Alec pointed, ignoring Nate's sudden grin and Parker's cross expression.

Caught, Sophie rolled her eyes, sighing, and pulled out what looked like a wooden stake. It was a cross, filed down at one point. Either she'd been called as the new Slayer, or it was meant to be driven into the ground.

"Parker didn't know about the hospital gift shop," she explained. "She went to the store, and, well…"

"I asked, and that's what the guy gave me," Parker argued, then relented. "Though there _may_ have been a communication breakdown. Besides. Flowers are flowers, right?"

"These are flowers for a _grave_ , Parker," Sophie sighed. "A tad bit morbid, under the circumstances, don't you think?"

Parker frowned, that deep frustrated one she got when she knew she'd messed up and was starting to feel like an alien, just as Sophie realized that she'd maybe gone a bit too far. Alec interrupted before she could apologize.

"Hey now," he took the flowers from Parker and set them in front of the soda, since Emily had tutted at the sight of it. "Any time you wanna buy me flowers, Parker, it's cool. Don't matter what kind."

"Okay," she rolled her eyes as Alec grinned and waggled his eyebrows. Back on the same page, everything was cool.

"Get a room, you two," Eliot muttered on the line, and Parker looked around, confused, again.

"We've _got_ one, Eliot." As if he were the biggest idiot she'd ever met.

"No, Parker. He meant like. _Get a room_. You know. For knockin' boots?"

"Oh." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. _Blech_."

"Thanks, Parker."

" _What_?"

"Okay, kids, if you're done?" Nate was smiling, though clearly eager to get back to business. "The shiv," Nate said, once the door was closed. "Everyone with access to that building has prints on file, it'll be easy enough to track. What's the bad news?"

Parker shook herself, getting back on track. "An old, torn up evidence bag was packed inside along with the shiv. It's the same one used in the stabbing that Santiago is being framed for."

\---

As the others talked, Eliot tried to think up a connection between Santiago and Hardison. His brain, though, was more interested between the connection between Hardison and Parker. It wasn't letting him forget that stupid plummeting feeling when Parker'd said that they already had a room. Yeah, she'd been confused, and disavowed- very clearly- any interest in Hardison ten seconds later, but-

 _Fuck it_.

There wasn't anyone in here, now. And he knew what he'd been thinking when he'd made the sponge bath dig.

Nobody was going to be able to straighten out Afghanistan, true, but more soldiers would've died if he hadn't slipped in, and he _had_ liberated Croatia.

And now he was sitting here, wearing pink underwear under his uniform, thinking about water running over Hardison's shoulder blades and sulking because Parker had brought him flowers.

He was losing his fucking mind. He needed to get the hell out of here.

\---

Sophie took her earpiece out when Tara called, but she was back online a few minutes later.

"How's it coming along?"

"How's _what_ coming?"

Eliot had been about to ask the same question, but Hardison had gotten there first. The irritation in his voice was distractingly calming. At least he wasn't the only one getting left out of the loop.

"Oh, right! You don't. You guys weren't there," Nate muttered. "Tara's been down at the courthouse, petitioning to have Eliot moved to another facility."

"Yes, but-" Sophie was cut off by Parker.

"And I'm driving the truck!"

"Yes," Nate said, sounding a bit wary. "Though there _will_ be guards in back, but the important thing is that it would get you out of Maricopa County's jurisdiction, where nobody recognizes Sophie or myself, and we can take it from there."

It was almost the best news Eliot had heard all day, until Sophie cut in.

"That's the _thing_ , Nate. It's not going well. She still might be able to make a case based on the safety concerns, but so far, there's no record of Eliot having been injured."

Eliot grimaced. Sophie was right. A few bruises and scrapes didn't count. He'd have to go pick a much worse fight and lose, before this was out. Throwing fights was harder than winning them.

Sophie continued. "And since she's also bringing up the bias within the system, what with the county being the one who _framed_ him. They're telling Tara that they won't move on it since his role in the stabbing is as yet unknown, and that there has been no proof of her claims regarding the bias. Chicken, meet egg. On top of that, the judges and attorneys she's managed to speak to are getting used to seeing her."

Parker sounded confused. "So?"

"In a long con of this sort, the worst thing you can do is to let your marks start thinking of you as ineffective."

"So she hasn't gotten it through yet?" Nate asked.

"No."

"Good. Tell her to back off."

This was _not_ what Eliot had wanted to hear.

"Aw, _hell_ no," Hardison sputtered, before Eliot could argue. "We need to get _on_ this, Nate. You _do_ realize that he might still have a target on his back, right? We can't just leave him in there waiting for red tape that might not get cut."

"It's not that bad," Parker reasoned. "I was in and out in fifteen minutes."

"No offense, Parker," Nate replied, "but you had a map, and prep time, and were in the administrative wing, not locked in a windowless room in the basement."

"Fine. Give me a day, and I'll have him out."

There was a pause, and Hardison's voice sounded hopeful as he again said exactly what Eliot wanted to say. "You can do that?"

There was a pause. Parker was probably nodding, maybe shrugging, and maybe that would be enough to sway it. Eliot really wished he was in the room, could see their faces.

"So what're we going to do?" Hardison asked, warily.

"Nate, man, I gotta say," Eliot cut in. "If I stay in here much longer, I'm going to go crazy."

"Good. Because that's exactly what we need. Hardison? You're going to lie there and work on getting better, and if you're good I'll have you on some light administrative, ah. Hacking. Eliot? You're going to go insane-"

"Soon as I get out of here, Nate, I _swear_ -"

"-and become psychic."


	10. Chapter 10

The isolation cell was four strides by three, and not at all conducive to pacing, though Eliot tried anyhow. This was the worst part, the _waiting._  

"Eliot, talk to me, man," Hardison's voice came online again. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," he said, habit now, but he'd be a lot better when this isolation stint was behind him. He wanted to take out the earpiece, toss it in the darkest corner, but it this went south, he wouldn't be able to come back to retrieve it.

"Hang on," he muttered, stopping mid-stride to listen. The creak of a door down the hall, then footsteps. Any minute now, he'd be released back up onto the block.

He flexed his fingers as the guards drew near. Miller again, and McTeague Good. They were close enough now that he could hear the faint rattling of keys, and _finally_ , they were opening his door.

"Hey Gremminger. Time to go back up top," Miller called, his tone bored. He had no idea at all what he was about to walk into.

"Sounds good, boss," he lied. As the door opened, Eliot attacked.

\---

 _This isn't anything new_.

These sounds had come across on the line while he watched from the van, or from across the room, as Eliot took on yet another security team, hired goon, Mossad hitter or Ukrainian assassin. The few times where he hadn't had visual, he'd been busy hacking security, reading through financials as fast as he could. But he didn't have those distractions, not now.

 _You've seen this before_.

There were no cameras, no feed, no visual, and even if there had been, Nate had set the computer on the table by the door, depressingly out of reach. There was no way to know exactly what was going on, he could only make guesses based on the small amounts of data coming through the comms, just a whole lot of imagination filling in the blanks. A sharp intake of breath, a thudding like impact that probably meant Eliot had taken a hit to the head. A noise that could've been a grunt or a whine and a dragging sound that didn't translate at all.

 _He can take care of himself_.

There was a relieved moment when he heard Eliot's muttered " _c'mon_ ," only lasting long enough for Alec's brain to catch on to the nuances of the wheezing breath that came before, or the too-sharp inhalation that followed immediately afterwards. Alec squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the dim light coming in through the hall, the small digital readouts scattered over the hospital equipment, trying to concentrate. Even so, it took him a moment to realize that he wasn't hearing anything more.

Eliot had gone down.

Just like they'd planned.

\---

 _"I don't get it, man," he said, glaring as Nate tossed him an icepack. He caught it with a little more vigor than was needed, maybe, if the pain in his side was anything to judge by, but the irritation was coming through. "You needed someone to lose a fight in order to convince them we were small-time, I get that, but I was in position, and Sophie-"_

 _"No," Eliot interrupted, shaking his head as he pulled up his sleeve to check a scrape on his own arm. "I got a few bruises. You would've gotten killed."_

 _"So what, you're saying that I can't lose a fight?" He brandished the icepack for evidence before holding it to the back of his head. "You have a change of heart sometime in the past three weeks you forgot to tell me about?"_

 _"I appreciate that, Hardison," Nate sat down on the couch, drink in hand. "But Eliot's instincts are better than yours, and Sophie was most at risk."_

 _"Which is why you should've sent him, not me."_

 _Eliot actually grinned for a moment, but Nate shook his head "You're looking at this all wrong, Hardison. Sending you after Sophie, your instincts kicked in, and you were able to get her out of there. If you'd gone against Eliot's guys, you would've fought harder, and you might have won a fight that needed to be lost."_

 _"I don't know, man. My instincts in other areas might be great, but-"_

 _"If you're going to throw a fight, you need to know how to win it, first. You need to be able to get around instinct, plan for the hits that they're going to get in, and know when to go down. You can't do that if you're panicking."_

 _"Panicking? Whoa, man. I did not panic, I'm merely-"_

 _But nobody was listening. The girls were coming through the door with the takeout, and as Sophie set the bags out on the living room table, she squeezed his shoulder as she smiled._

 _"Thank you, Hardison."_

 _She'd changed out of her dirty clothes, they'd pulled the job off, and he'd totally rescued the damsel in distress. It was all good._

\---

Eliot hung on the edges of the adrenaline crash while listening to McTeague and Miller talk. The deliberation had been going on for a few minutes, but eventually, Miller made the call. "Leave him," he told McTeague. "If he's still unconscious in an hour or so, we'll get the doc in."

"Fucking lunatic," McTeague muttered, but then they were gone, the lights were shut off, and Eliot was alone again. For a few minutes, he just breathed, prodding at his ribs.

"Eliot?"

 _Mostly alone_. The earpiece was still in, and Hardison's voice was sending sharp spikes into Eliot's brain.

"I'm here," he winced, blinking a few times to make sure his eyes were actually open, but the lights were off, there was nothing to see. And there wasn't really any reason to stand up right now, anyway.

"All pieces present and accounted for?"

"Yeah." His head hurt, he was going to have a goose egg on the back of his skull, and his ribs ached from the kicks he'd taken once he'd gone down, but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

"All right. I'm gonna call Nate, get everyone back on comms. They're probably worried."

"Tell them I'm fine, but. Leave 'em off for now." Eliot _really_ didn't want to listen to Sophie and Nate going ten more rounds over the idiocy of this plan. "I'll talk to them in the morning. Kinda tired, here."

"Oh," Hardison sounded a bit disappointed, but passed the message along when filling Nate in. After hanging up, though, he spoke to Eliot again. "Want me to go off, too, give you a break?"

He was sitting in a dark room, tired, cold, and sore. He'd made the right play, threatening to take out his own earpiece and risk having it lost in the fight unless the others promised to go offline. Nate would've been pressing for updates that Eliot couldn't have given, and, well. He'd protected the team from worse. Hardison had been the compromise. _"If it all goes to hell in there, we gotta know about it,"_ he'd said, and then he'd volunteered to listen in.

Eliot hadn't been enthusiastic about the idea, he'd barely managed to bite back some comment about Hardison listening in to get his rocks off, but now that it was said and done, Eliot wasn't minding so much.

"Eh, it's not like I have much else to distract me."

"Yeah, well." There was a pause, and Eliot thought that maybe Hardison was going to say something else, started reconsidering his decision if it meant that _he_ would have to be the one to do the talking. But when he spoke again, Hardison was talking to Nate.

These were the bone conduction earpieces, not the atmospheric earpieces that they used when the team needed to hear what the mark was saying, so Eliot only caught Hardison's side as he assured Nate that everything was fine. A few less than illuminating "uh-huhs" and "yeahs" filled in the rest of it.

"So where are we at?" he asked, once Hardison signed off.

"Parker's been busy. She's already got about a days worth of specials and documentaries. Sophie and Nate are making some to mix in that's a bit more directly suited to the purpose, and unless the doctor gives the go ahead, they'll probably be editing it all themselves."

Neither of them really seemed like they'd been presidents of the AV club. "Seriously?"

"Doc says that he doesn't want me sitting up much, and I can hold out for a while, but. Yeah. Might just have to talk them through it." Hardison yawned. "So you know _that's_ gonna be a bucket of suck."

"Sounds like it could take a while." Eliot stretched his arms experimentally, groaned when the shoulder he hadn't realized he'd pulled creaked, sending shockwaves up the back of his neck and making his head throb thickly.

"Seriously," Hardison spoke quietly, as if he didn't want his concern overheard, and wasn't sure it would be welcome. "Are you okay?"

"Just tired."

"Not holding out on us, hiding any stab wounds? You still have both legs, right?"

"I'm _fine_ ," Eliot grumbled, suppressing a smile as he began to rethink this entire conversation. "How's your stab wound doing?"

"No idea at all, man. But I think the walls are waving at me, so I'm not sure I'm the one to ask."

\---

It was so easy, Alec almost felt bad for the sheriff's department. All he'd needed to get started was the roster and the duty log. From there, he was able to get the names of every deputy who had been at Arlington's ranch, and every guard at the jail.

He had their names, and set up monitoring on their email addresses. A few of the younger ones were on facebook, hacking their accounts was cake, and once he had their passwords, Sophie took over, scanning for information and subtext, analyzing every online relationship and taking what looked like meticulous notes on a yellow legal pad.

Alec, however, was entering information directly into JARVIS. As soon as there was someone Eliot needed to know about, they'd be able to pull up their record in a heartbeat.

Parker had been in and out for a few days, now, breaking into one house and apartment after another. "They're law enforcement. You'd think they'd be better about personal security," she complained, sitting down next to Sophie to report in on what she'd found in Miller's garbage. "But the bugs are planted."

Through all of this, Nate was bouncing between the church and the jail, talking with his flock and feeding everything he learned back to Hardison.

"You need me at the church for the rummage sale tonight?" Sophie asked, looking at her watch. Visiting hours were nearly over, and they'd need to get all this cleared up before the nurses returned.

"No," Nate replied over comms. "I think we've got enough to get started. I'll send Tara back to the TV station. Eliot?"

"He signed off a few hours ago," Alec smirked. "Said listening to all of us was driving him crazy."

"Well, at least it ought to help him sell the part."

\---

It was Tuesday morning when McTeague and Miller came back, keeping their distance as they regarded Eliot from the doorway.

"Okay, Gremminger. Two choices. Act up, and you can stay down here for another week. Behave, and you can go back up to your cell. What's it going to be?"

Eliot rocked his head back against the wall, keeping his eyes distant, pretending that he barely knew that they were there. When Miller shifted uneasily, Eliot began to focus, coming back to himself. He stood, holding his hands out in a placating gesture before offering his wrists for the cuffs. "No more problems, boss."

\---

Channel seven had aired two canned specials back-to back last night, and now, the jail's airing of Judge Judy was being bumped in favor of the first of Nate's edited programs.

Half-watching from his bed, Alec dozed as Sophie's voice narrated the segue between the original case study- Frank Sagan, a man who'd survived a plane crash in Death Valley before hiking back to civilization- and the one that Nate had orchestrated.

"Cases such as Sagan's are rare," Sophie narrated as the scene cut to a busy parking lot, "but are by no means restricted to the outlands of human civilization. In 2003, a man in Lansing, Michigan was attacked one evening on his way home. James Dupree was violently mugged, and though medical rescue was nearly immediate, he sustained head injuries similar to Sagan's." Another cut, now, to the emergency room footage that Parker had gotten, so chaotically shot that recognition of Alec's own doctor was nearly impossible.

"Dupree was unconscious for no more than ten minutes, but soon after he awoke, strange sensations began to manifest themselves."

Nate's disguised face came on the screen next, talking to someone off camera. "The first few times it happened, everyone thought it was because I was on all these painkillers, that I'd just overheard them when I was in between wakefulness and sleep. It wasn't until a few days later, when I was back home, talking with my daughter, that I began to suspect it was something more…"

And they were off. Right now, the inmates in the television room at the jail were sitting at their tables, watching Nate spin the tale of the psychic powers he'd obtained, Eliot was setting foot back on the block, and Alec was falling again into drugged, exhausted sleep.

\---

Eliot started small. Asking Trent how his aunt's arthritis was doing, asking Stanley if he'd seen the latest odds on the game that he'd bet three hundred dollars on. The information was the easy part- all being fed to him by Nate, sometimes Hardison. Sophie talked him through the delivery, and more importantly, through the blowoffs that had to follow each one.

Because going up to cons and starting conversations about their mothers? Not exactly smiled upon.

Over the next few days, some freaked, and he wound up being punched more than once. Others spooked, even leaving the mess table to get some distance between him. Some looked at him like he was crazy.

People began to avoid him, but it actually made his job easier if he didn't have to do it all the time. And what was important was that they _were_ all talking about him. He didn't need to actually read any minds if everyone was beginning to believe that he _could_. The pirated television was helping, too- more and more people, drawn by the gossip, left their card games and arguments to stare up at the screen when the next program came on. Eliot stayed in his bunk when it aired. The block was nearly empty.

The most tiring part of this job was the distant, spaced out expression he'd had to maintain when anyone else was around. But he had to admit, even after a week, it was a pretty good setup, remarkably self-sustaining compared to some of the other cons they'd worked, and relatively safe. Nobody was going to go to the brass with reports of "psychic abilities" without being laughed out of the room, but they were hanging on every word he said.

Even the guards were starting to catch on, though nothing was solidified, yet. Not until Tara showed up.

\---

He really would've liked to see the expressions on the guards' faces when she burst out of the visiting area. From what he'd seen of the one- Sanderson, who didn't yet know that his wife was thinking about leaving him- it was going to be pretty impressive.

"I want to speak with the warden," she said in a shocked, angry voice. It carried through the door as clearly as it did over the comms. "There's been a breach of security, there's been. I don't even _know_ what this place is pulling right now, but-"

"Ma'am. What seems to be the issue here?"

"The _issue_ is that apparently, the inmates of this facility have access to information that _nobody_ here should know about, which leads me to believe that either someone is feeding my client information about matters we've never discussed, he's got access to an internet connection and is _very_ adept with it, or the man's suddenly gone and developed psychic powers. I would like to know exactly which of these is the truth."

"I don't know what to tell you, ma'am."

"Then let me speak with someone who does, or I'll have this entire facility closed down and open up investigations into each and every staff member."

"I'll take you to the warden," the guard sounded intimidated, and their voices carried off down the hallway as Tara's rant continued in his ear.

Give her five minutes with the warden and they'd have another half dozen believers on their hands. No problem.

\---

Four days into this game, and the cracks were starting to show. The information stockpiles were getting low, and as the rumors had spread throughout the jail, Eliot had found himself being sought out by the curious, bored, and desperate. He only had so much to work with, and now and again had to go off Sophie's best guesses at what they needed to hear.

But over the past two days, they'd started honing in on their audience.

Now that Eliot was back in genpop, he was allowed the same privileges as everyone else. Tara could visit, now, and he was able to attend the Bibles and Bars Revue sessions that Sophie hadn't stopped leading. He could've spoken to her, afterwards, had there been any real point to it, but since they were on comms and Eliot didn't need to admit just how much he liked looking at familiar faces, he'd merely returned to his cell.

A few others, as it turned out, had been waiting for him to leave before approaching her.

"McTeague walked me out," Sophie reported on comms, later that evening. "He also attends our church, brings his mother every weekend."

Eliot wasn't surprised. As far as the guards in here went, McTeague was one of the more decent ones. "You think he's our guy?"

"I don't believe he had anything to do with hurting Hardison," she said. "But he's on the list, remember? He applied for a patrol position two months ago, and as soon as there is an opening, he'll be transferred. In the meantime, though, he's been socializing with his coworkers in the department at large."

"He was at Arlington's," Nate explained. "The night of the murder."

"Yes. But I've got some bad news. As he walked me out to my car, I asked about the fight in the yard, what the reaction inside the jail had been like. A little concern for the welfare of all the lost souls inside, and curiosity regarding the people involved, and he was telling me that Donovan had been released already. Sunday afternoon."

"Damn it, Hardison," Eliot groaned. He hadn't seen him around on the block and had guessed- wrongly, as it turned out- that Donovan had been in one of the infirmary cells.

Nate sounded more diplomatic. "Why are we just hearing about this now?"

"Sorry, guys. You can't blame me for the data that hasn't been entered into the system. Release forms get entered manually, in batches. I'm guessing they just haven't gotten to it yet."

"So where is he now?"

Hardison sighed. "I'm on it."

Eliot sighed. "In the meantime, I'm going to need more info if I’m going to keep this up."

"Yeah, yeah," Hardison muttered, irritably. "You all do realize that I was just _stabbed_ , right?"

"Parker, I need you to hit McTeague's place. I'll check the database, see who else we need info on and we'll go from there. Hardison? Stay on Donovan for the time being."

"Right."

\---

Eliot wasn't surprised, an hour later, when Hardison reported that Donovan had gone off the grid. He had no idea if he was three blocks or ten thousand miles away.

"On the plus side, at least you don't have to worry about him killing you in the mess line," Hardison offered, but Eliot figured he was missing the point.

 _Ain't me I'm worried about_ , Eliot thought, knocking his knuckles against the wall, mostly to stop himself from punching it. The psychic routine- and the reactions it got- had been going to his head. He'd forgotten where he was, what they were up against.

Donovan was circling the team, Eliot was certain of it. And in here, he couldn't do anything to stop him coming.

\---

Hospital release forms were a pain in the ass, but when combined with the county jail release forms that had been tagged on upon his admission, it was late morning before Alec set foot outside the hospital.

He'd have to come back for another post-op check in a week, and he returned to his hotel room to find that the others had been using it as a staging area for the past ten days, though they'd clearly been preparing for his return. The fridge was stocked with orange soda, there was a lap-desk on the bed that would allow him to work on the computer when he was lying down, and more importantly, there were jeans in the dresser. Real shoes. And his shaving kit was sitting by the sink.

"Let me know when you want to grab lunch, and I'll have the girls meet us," Nate said, leaving him to it and closing the door behind him. One shower and shave later, Alec Hardison supposed he could count himself among the living again. He was just putting his earpiece in again- habit, now- when his phone rang.

"Hey, what's up?"

"It's Parker," Sophie gasped. "She's hurt."

\---

All around him, the mess hall was filling with people, so Eliot couldn't speak. If anyone looked him in the eye right now, he knew he'd do something stupid, so Eliot glared at his lunch tray instead. Scratched plastic, pale blue, rough at the edges. Plastic dishes and cutlery. He couldn't bring himself to look at the spaghetti on his plate. His head just wasn't in the right place for it, not when, on the line, everything was going to hell.

Another minute or so, and he'd probably bite his tongue in half.

" _Parker_ , come _in_ ," Nate was repeating himself, but getting no response.

"She's not-" Alec listened for a moment, just to be sure. "Is she on comms?"

Sophie's voice was watery and shocked, all at once. "I think she must've lost it in the fall."

"The _fall_? What was she climbing?"

"McTeague's condo downtown. From the roof down to the seventeenth floor. I don't understand it. One minute, everything's fine, and-"

"I'm on my way. Sophie, stay where you are and talk me through it."

"I'd distracted the guards long enough for her to get up onto the roof, then went outside to wait in the park across the street while began to come down the side of the building in her window-washing rig. I glanced up once, and everything was fine, but I looked away so nobody would start wondering what I was staring at. In the reflection of the windows across the street a few moments later, I saw her line, waving as it fell. It took me a few minutes to get over here, and-"

"What?"

"I can see it, Nate. There's a balcony in the way, but it looks like she landed on the fifth or sixth floor. I don't know, and the police area already here. I called 911-"

"I'll get on, see what they're saying. What's the address? Do we know if they've got digital surveillance?"

"I don't know," Sophie repeated, dangerously close to tears. "What should I do?"

"Hang tight, Sophie," Nate said. "I'll be there in a minute."

\---

Alec ignored the ache in his side, the stitches that were probably dangerously close to popping out. Sophie hadn't been the only one to call in the fallen window-washer at 44 Monroe, and ambulances were already on their way. Police had gone into the building, but so far, nobody had reported anything.

 _Because she's hiding out. She's fine, she made it into McTeague's place and just dropped the line when she unhooked herself. That's all._

It took too long to get into the security system and pull up the cameras, and so far, he'd found her going up to the roof in the elevator, getting off at the top floor. The stairwell cameras showed nothing, though the camera pointing towards the roof access door was jostled out of place.

Alec scrolled forward, looking for further movement. Parker didn't seem to have passed across the cameras on the seventeenth or fourth floors.

 _It's a good thing_ , he tried to convince himself. _She's in his condo, she's okay._

He spent ten minutes of searching, scrabbling, looking for any bit of information while Nate and Sophie went through their own panicked hells on the line. He began going through the footage from all the other floors, and again, there was nothing.

After twenty minutes, he was out of ideas. He'd never felt so sickly useless in his entire life.

"Fuckin' useless… I hate this," he muttered to himself, nearly jumping when Eliot's voice suddenly responded.

"I know the feeling."

\---

"El, you- you hear all this?" Hardison sounded surprised, and from what Eliot could tell, Nate and Sophie, too, had forgotten that he was on the line.

"Been here the entire time," he grit through his teeth as he sat down on his bed. In the corridor, Miller glanced at him warily as he passed, but didn't ask who he was talking to. Insanity had its perks. "Couldn’t talk until now." Now that he could, though, he was suddenly out of things to say. Parker was down, and nobody knew anything, and there wasn't anything he could do or say to change it.

"She's hiding out somewhere, waiting for all the commotion to die down." Hardison was trying to convince himself. The least Eliot could do was help.

"She knows what she's doing," he stated, not bringing up the fact that she hadn't made contact, the thousand possible things that could mean. "She's going to be fine."

He had no idea if Hardison was even listening.

 _Come on, Parker. Please. Don't make me a liar_.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been half an hour, and still there was no sign of Parker.

Alec was monitoring every emergency room in the county, while Sophie and Nate stood outside 44 Monroe, watching the police and ambulances pulling away. There'd been no official statement yet, but judging by the chatter on the police frequencies, they were leaning towards a false alarm.

Otherwise, it was quiet on the line, which probably meant that everyone heard Alec's startled gasp when his door swung suddenly open.

" _Parker_."

"You're supposed to be in bed." She was pale and bedraggled, but wasn't so out of it that she missed the expression on Alec's face as she froze in the doorway. "I'm fine."

" _Parker_ \- guys, she's here, she's fine." He shook himself, searching her face for answers. She looked shaken, almost ill. "What the hell happened?!"

"My line came loose," she replied in a wavering tone, once Alec stood up to grab her by the hand and pull her inside. She dropped the orange backpack she'd slung over her shoulder, and somewhere in the background, the rest of the team was all talking at once, but Alec wasn't listening. Instead, he was sitting her on the edge of the bed and going to the mini fridge to get her a soda. It was the best he could think of, and it bought him the time to adjust to the shift his panic had taken.

"So it was an accident?"

Parker was wide-eyed as she nodded, and Alec only now noticed the oversized blue sweatshirt she hadn't been wearing when she'd left. "I. Yes. I don't know. I anchored at the top, checked my knots twice, but I didn't see anything wrong." She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Made it down to McTeague's balcony just fine, but when I grabbed the line to tie in again, it just came down."

Alec nodded, remembered to breathe. "How'd you get out of there?"

"I swung down onto the sixteenth floor balcony and caught my breath. By the time I was heading through the condo, I could hear the noise in the hallway and sirens coming from outside, so I waited, took off the rig and shoved it in the bag, grabbed this," she gestured at her shirt with a distasteful face. "There was all this noise- neighbors talking in the hall, trying to find out what happened, and they knocked on the door. Made up something about waiting for my brother to get back from work and told them that I hadn't heard anything. A bunch of them were all going outside to see what they could see, so I went with them." She shrugged. "And that's when it hit me, all those police cruisers sitting out there, I just. I ran."

"Your comms-"

With shaking hands, Parker pulled her hair back to show off the red welt that ran along the side of her face. "The line whipped me in the ear as it came down."

"Shit," Alec said, wrapping his arms around her, and even though she clearly wasn't wild about the idea, she allowed the contact.

"Another five seconds, and I would've gone over the edge, I would've-" she frowned, her voice distant. "My knots came loose." She shook her head, like she just couldn't believe it.

"Nate. Sophie. I need you guys to head up to the roof." Parker's frown deepened at his words. "Just checking something," he assured her, standing up slowly to give her some space and ease the ache in his side a little.

"There's a chunk of rope tied off up here. It's been cut. We're heading your way."

"Seriously?" _The hell?_

"What is it?" Parker asked.

"Your knots didn't slip." There wasn't really much point candy-coating it. "Someone cut the line."

Anyone else would've frozen in terror. Parker just laughed. " _Whew_." Her shoulders lost some of their rigidity and she leaned back on her hands, smiling. " _That's_ a relief."

Alec threw his hands up in surrender. If she wasn't going to freak out on her own behalf, he could step up. "Someone tries to kill you, and it's a _relief_. We're all running around, panicking, because we think you're _dead_. And now it's looking like someone actually _wanted_ you that way, and you're _relieved_."

She scowled, puzzled as to why Alec wasn't getting it. "Yeah, but my _knots_ didn't fail."

"Someone tried to _kill_ you."

Parker nodded raised an eyebrow, her eyes darting down towards Alec's injury. "So?"

 _Fuck it_ , he decided, his injury finally winning out and sending him to stretch out onto the bed beside her. _Might as well start a club._

\---

 _She's okay_ , Eliot told himself, trying not to hear the _for now_ that followed.

They'd underestimated the threat, and he'd underestimated McTeague. Somehow, he'd known Parker was going to search his condo.

On the other end of the line, Sophie and Nate were returning to the hotel, pouring drinks and passing them around. A whiskey or five would've been good right now, but it wasn't worth complaining about.

"Hey, man, why don't I-" Hardison was saying, only to be cut off by Sophie.

"Painkillers and alcohol. You know better."

"Maybe I don't," came the grumbling reply, as Nate prompted Parker to go over her story again.

"Get her on comms," Eliot muttered, needing to hear this, and after a rustling sound- Hardison signing off- _finally_ heard her voice.

"Hi Eliot."

"Hey," he said, realizing only halfway through her story that what he'd _meant_ to say was _don't scare us like that_. But she was fine, cracking jokes now that the immediate danger had passed. Like the fact that someone was gunning for her hadn't even registered.

"I'm going to kill McTeague," he announced, once she was done.

" _No_ ," she said. "It's not him, I don't think. I mean, he wasn't home. Besides. I found this note shoved under his door. I left it there, but got pictures."

A moment later, Nate read it out loud. "Says, ah, 'You were at Arlington's that night, so I wouldn't go around spreading rumors. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.' Huh. Hardison?"

"Going over the security footage from this morning," Hardison came on the line again after a few minutes. "McTeague left at about six-thirty this morning. About five minutes later," he trailed off, and Eliot imagined him scrolling through frame by frame. "Guys. It's Miller."

"Same guy who signed off on the evidence bags for the shiv," Parker confirmed. "Right. Was he the one that cut my line?"

"He's been on the block all day," Eliot confirmed, glancing out into the corridor. He could just make him out down near the rec area. "Seen him often enough that he couldn't been out there and back in between. Though I might just kick his ass, anyway."

"Stay cool, Eliot," Nate warned, just as Hardison sputtered.

"Hey, guys, I got it. 11:46 this morning, I got Donovan entering the building. He's going for the stairs half an hour before Parker shows up at the condo. And I'm not sure- the cameras are low-resolution, cheap ass things- but it looks like he followed the police out."

"I don't understand," Sophie said. "How was he was there before Parker?"

"Don't want to alarm anyone, but I'm checking it out, and. Hang on." There was a moment of static on the line, then he was back. "Okay. You know how I lost my earbud in the yard?"

"Yeah?"

"Someone found it, and Donovan has it. As of now, that earbud is cut off and we're on another channel, but. Everything up to now? He knows all about it."

"Damn it, Hardison!" Nate's voice echoed Eliot's own.

"Hey. Things got a little hectic in there, with me bleeding out and all, just chill. Here on out, he's lost the advantage."

"He knows everything I know," Eliot sighed. "The entire mind reading routine. All he needs to do is to come in and show them his earpiece, and I'm blown."

"Then you'd better act quick," Nate decided. "I'm bumping up the timeline."

\---

This was reckless. Nate had brushed off the fact that they were _compromised_ like it was nothing, and there was no way this was going to work. To make matters worse, Eliot found himself having to wait until the shift-change cell check to say anything. Up the line, he could hear McTeague chatting with the guys a few cells down.

Eventually, though, he was standing at Eliot's cell, checking him off on a clipboard, barely looking at him. It wasn't the ideal setup, but it would have to do.

"Veiled threats are the weapons of a guilty man," he said, keeping his eyes and voice carefully distant, aiming for some air of vague mysticism that he just couldn't feel, acting like nothing he said mattered to him at all on this plane. "The only harm comes from giving in. Seek guidance"

McTeague frowned, glancing sideways before finally looking at him. "What're you on about, Gremminger?"

"You should seek council. Someone you can trust." He blinked, then, as if coming out of a trance, and frowned apologetically. "Uh, sorry, boss. Sometimes, I just. Say things. Never mind."

"Right," McTeague shrugged, making a mark on his clipboard. "See you tomorrow."

All Eliot could do after that was wait.

\---

Things moved quickly after that.

As Nate had predicted- of course, it would've been better had he actually _explained_ it at the time- McTeague showed up at the church that evening, sitting through the service and asking to speak to Nate afterwards. Eliot had only heard Nate's side of it, asking to see the note, coaxing him into doing the right thing.

He'd wished they'd bugged the church. It would've been helpful to have at least heard the tone of McTeague's words. Even so, after McTeague had finally gone home. Nate had seemed obnoxiously confident.

"Eliot? We'll have you out of there in no time."

He hadn't believed it, though, not until a few minutes ago, when he'd been called into visitation.

Tara was waiting for him with a grin on her face, and things were happening fast, now.

"The charges against you are being dropped," she leaned across the table to show him the paperwork. "It seems that there are several deputies who are changing their stories of what happened the night of Deputy Springer's murder."

"Several?"

"Four initially, spearheaded by McTeague, and with the FBI investigation taking over, the others are lining up to follow suit. But that's neither here nor there. The amended reports so far are enough that you're being released immediately, since the State Attorney agrees that your treatment here has been more than adequate punishment for the drunk and disorderly charges that, well, by your own admission…" She trailed off, her eyebrows twitching, amused and apologetic.

Eliot fell back against his chair, actually stunned. This was real. "You're serious."

"I am," Tara stood up. "Now come on, let's get you out of here."

When Eliot made to follow, the guard- Sanchez, this time- let him pass without comment.

He really hadn't been expecting that. Not in the least. Half an hour later, he was walking out the entrance a free man.

\---

Alec lay in bed and tried not to watch the clock, tried to ignore Parker's pacing, but the going was rough. Since Tara had grabbed the nearly dead relay phone from the ladies' room outside reception an hour ago, she and Eliot had been off comms, and, well.

 _It's easier to just call it paranoia_.

Never mind the fact that even though Eliot was out, so was Donovan.

And it shouldn't be taking this long for two people to drive the thirteen miles from the jail to the hotel.

And he wasn't the only one being paranoid, either. Nate had instructed Parker to wait in here, while he and Sophie hung out in the lobby, watching the parking lot. He'd said nothing about it, but his intentions were plain- he was keeping the crew close.

Parker knew the score as much as Alec did. She was flitting across the room, not even bothering to try cracking the cheap safe that hotel provided for valuables. Alec watched her tread from the window to the door and back to the window again. Finally, though, her posture changed and her head swiveled towards the door.

"They're coming," she brightened, stepping over to swing the door open and peering excitedly out into the hallway.

Alec could hear them coming, and a moment later, Tara was stepping inside, followed by Sophie, Nate, and finally, Eliot, who was immediately tackled by Parker. He recovered quickly, even returning the hug with a chuckle. "Good to see you, too." His eyes swiveled towards the bed and he frowned sharply at Alec. "Don't get up, man."

Alec hadn't realized he'd been doing just that, and froze, halfway to sitting and feeling precariously foolish, but that had nothing on how precarious he felt when Eliot crossed the room and shook his hand, passing him his earpiece as he did so.

"Thanks for that, by the way," he grinned, and maybe Alec was imagining how tight Eliot's grip had been, there, for that scant second. "But don't let me see that thing for at least another twenty-four hours."


	12. Chapter 12

There was this look that Hardison got on his face sometimes, whenever he was close to noticing something, starting to make the connection between two seemingly random pieces of data and solve the case. It was the same expression he got whenever he walked past a bakery.

It was that look, more than anything, that sent Eliot stepping back to lean against the dresser by the television.

He just wasn't sure if it was because _he'd_ been the reason for the expression, or because apparently, he'd been paying enough attention to notice.

"So what took you guys so long?" Parker was dumping out the melted contents of the ice bucket in the sink, but paused by the door to glance between Eliot and Tara.

"He made us stop for burgers," Tara smirked as her eyes darted down to his belt. "Just as well, he's looking kind of skinny, don't you think?"

"Eliot," Sophie's tone was chiding, but Hardison fielded it for him. "You need to eat."

"Trust me, Sophie, if he's skinny 'cause he ain't been eating, it's better than being skinny because he's _actually_ been eating, in there."

"Whatever." Eliot shrugged, shifting away in case Nate or Sophie thought to notice the fact that his belt was two notches tighter than it usually was. Hardison's computer, sitting on the table, was a distraction, and anyway, he'd been starting to wonder if there was any more information out there, anything they were missing out on having this little reunion party.

Parker went out into the hallway as Sophie set to unwrapping a few more plastic cups, telling Tara to pass her the bottle and asking Hardison if he wanted a soda, if he'd taken his meds, did he need to eat.

"I'm not a complete invalid."

"It's ah, best if you just let her do her thing," Nate smirked, opening the door for Parker, who'd knocked this time, probably because it was easier than picking the lock with a bucket of ice in her hands.

"So now what?" Eliot finally asked, once Nate passed him a drink. Resisting the urge to down it in one, he gave them a minute to get their thoughts together.

"Well," Nate shrugged, glancing at Tara, who sipped at her drink and checked her phone before speaking.

"Right now, things are getting hot for Arlington. A fifth witness, Deputy Sharon Hanson, has stepped forward to amend her report. The State police and the FBI are working the case, and the witness testimonies will hold for a little while, but it's not a nail in the coffin. Enough time's elapsed that there will be suspicion that they've had the chance to get their stories straight."

"We've still got the recording of the audio feed from Arlington's ranch," Nate said. "Any way we can release that to them?"

It sounded good. There was only one problem. "Won't they be suspicious of where it came from?"

"Right," Nate glanced over at Hardison. "Any ideas?"

"I don't know, man, I could-" he broke off, frowning as he thought. "It's a basic audio signal. All we'd need to do is transfer it from JARVIS to their system and backlog it to that night. But there'd be no way to account for the fact that they would've missed it before."

"Okay, we go low tech. We just transfer it to a recorder, and get that recorder into evidence."

"Same question still applies- why wouldn't anyone bring it forward?" Sophie perched on the arm of the chair. "If we hand it over to the deputies, we'd be forcing a lot of attention onto them that they might not stand up to."

"Which is exactly what we want, as long as Arlington's the one we give it to."

"That might work," Tara said. "I just got an email from an Agent Taggert, and it indicates that they're one signature away from obtaining a warrant. He's requesting that the State Police be on hand to help serve it tomorrow evening."

"Taggart?" Eliot didn't know if this was good news, or very bad. "You mean, as in. Taggart and McSweeten?"

Realization dawned on the others' faces, all but for Parker, who glanced confusedly between them.

Nate, though, grinned and stood. "I'm impressed," he said to Tara, who just smirked knowingly. There was a story there, but she wasn't telling. "Parker, you're the only one who nobody really knows yet, one attempt on your life notwithstanding. This is good, this is-"

Eliot shook his head. They were getting off track, and Nate was already heading for the door. "What about the recording? Won't Arlington just erase it?"

"Not if he thinks it'll clear him."

\---

Alec flipped channels again, settling for now on some shark documentary, and tried not to concentrate on Eliot's presence, over by the window. Eliot was staring out into the parking lot below, watching for threats, or maybe just for the girls or Nate to come back, and he was frowning.

"What's up?"

"Anyone on comms yet?"

"No," Alec dropped the remote on the bedspread and glanced at the communications monitor up on his laptop screen, but it was still quiet. "And I'm taking that to mean that the girls are out enjoying their lunch and planning on bringing me back something disgusting and green while Nate, I don't know, takes over North Korea or something. They're fine. Any trouble, they'll let us know."

Eliot nodded, but barely seemed to be listening.

"You expecting trouble?" It was a stupid question. Eliot _always_ expected trouble.

"Not sure," Eliot admitted after a while, running a hand through his greasy hair, wincing at the feel of it. "Probably. You can't say things haven't been lookin' suspicious. Hey," he turned from the window with a frown. "Where's my gear, anyhow?"

"Don't know. They didn't check me out of my room, so maybe your key still works in yours. Otherwise, it's probably in Nate's."

"Huh."

"You gonna go shower?"

Eliot turned to the window again. "In a while. When the others get back."

"Ain't like I'm going anywhere."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"Okay, man. Suit yourself."

Alec watched a great white breach the surface of the water and was about to comment on it when he realized that Eliot was still staring resolutely out the window, arms crossed, back to the room.

Sharks on television weren't really much of a novelty, but still. The window faced the back of the parking lot, and there was no way Eliot had line of sight on the street or three of the four entrances. If anything was coming, Eliot probably wouldn't see it from where he was standing.

His watch was beginning to look less like awareness and a lot more like avoidance. There could've been a lot of reasons for it, or maybe none at all, but it was starting to make Alec nervous.

 _That_ , at least, he could work with.

"You wanna sit down, or something? Your lurking is a bit disconcerting. I swear, man, you're hindering my recovery."

Eliot's brow quirked, but he didn't roll his eyes. Instead, he pulled the chair out from the desk. What're we watching, here?"

"Sharks."

"Cool."

\---

Eliot wasn't sure he liked the idea of them all eating out at the same place, even if it was in the restaurant attached to the hotel, but he'd been sick of the hotel room for hours, and Hardison had been threatening grave actions against several countries if they hadn't let him come along.

It would've been safer just to confiscate the computers, but there was no way to lock him in while the rest of them ate. There was a big booth in back, wrapping around a table. He and Parker took the edges while the others scooted in between them. Parker was keeping an eye on the kitchen door, he could see the front entrance easily, and they were set far back from the windows. It was as ideal as they were going to get.

"So. Getting back to the reason we're all still here," Sophie twirled her straw in her fingers a little distastefully. "What are we going to do about Jeanine Santiago? How do we get to her?"

Parker crunched on her mouthful of ice. "I could get myself arrested."

"No." Eliot and Hardison shook their heads vehemently, but Nate only grinned.

"Thanks, Parker. I don't think that will be necessary. Santiago will be cleared, thanks mostly to Tara, once Arlington and Miller go down.

"Miller? I know he's bad news, but." Hardison grimaced, rolled his shoulder back. His stitches must've been bothering him. "You connect him to Santiago?"

"Miller logged the shiv- twice."

"Kind of a reach, though," Eliot said. "He _does_ work there. And it's not like he showed up on tape at Arlington's. We don't have anything on him."

"You notice a lot of women working the block while you were in there?" Nate didn't wait for Eliot's reply. "Same goes for the women's section. No men work the block. Miller shouldn't have been there."

"Could've been called in if it went down loudly and badly enough. And seeing as how it happened in the middle of a riot-" The waiter was coming with their food, so he fell silent as plates were passed around.

"True," Nate said, once the waiter was gone. "But once the riot was contained, he would've gone back to his post. He wouldn't have been in charge of the paperwork, and he wouldn't have been the one to log the evidence."

The steak wasn't anything special. But it didn't taste like it was minutes away from rotting, and Eliot had beer to go with it. There was baseball playing quietly on the television over the bar, and this was really about as good a night as he could've hoped for, even if the Diamondbacks were beating Cleveland. Then Nate started talking again.

"So. Parker, you're going to tip off McSweeten, pass him a copy of the jail's duty roster for the jail the day Santiago was framed."

Parker sat up, talking with her mouth full. "Right now?"

"Tomorrow. They're going to be serving Arlington's warrant, you'll just happen to stop by with some information."

Parker blushed, then frowned in irritation. "Won't he be suspicious if I just come in out of nowhere?"

"Yes," Sophie cut in. "So you need to misdirect that suspicion. If he thinks you've got important leads, he'll have questions about them- why you've got them, where they came from. If, on the other hand, you hand him something that looks unimportant, he'll start wondering why you bothered. And, well, since McSweeten is a little…"

"Sweet on you," Hardison teased, and Sophie nodded.

"Yes. He'll look at the evidence you've handed him, carefully, making sure that he's not wrong in his little romantic whimsies. Since you'll also be handing him a copy of the evidence log, he'll see the discrepancy with Miller's name right away. As long as you don't tell him what that discrepancy _means_ , he'll crack it on his own."

\---

Nate had determined that with the threat Donovan posed, they needed to move things around. He'd already gotten rooms at another hotel down the highway- one suite for himself, Parker, and Sophie, and a room for Alec and Eliot.

After dinner, Parker went ahead to scope the place out, wrap her head around the entrances and exits. Nate and Eliot were packing up their rooms, and Sophie had stayed behind to help Alec deal with his mess. Or so she said.

Alec learned very quickly what her ulterior motives had been in offering.

"So, Hardison. I hope you don't mind my asking," Sophie trailed off, awkwardly shoving cables into a bag. "But are you still considering leaving us once this job is completed?"

Alec hadn't been much help with the packing anyway. He shoved a pair of socks back in his duffel and leaned against the wall to ease the ache in his stomach.

"Not really," he decided, not sure how much she knew already. "I _was_ , but. Lately. I think things are going to be okay."

"Have you talked to Parker about it?"

"What?" _Parker?_ "No. Why?"

"There was an attraction there, wasn't there? At least for a little while? I haven't asked, didn't want to pry, but it's changed, hasn't it?"

"Yeah. But that was a _while_ ago." He hadn't realized that he'd effectively backed himself into the wall, hadn't left himself much of an escape. "You know how it goes. Mutual lack of understanding and awareness of same." Alec snorted, but it sent a twinge down into his gut and it wound up sounding like a sigh, which was probably why Sophie was looking at him so sympathetically.

"She _does_ like things bright, shiny and tangible. Emotions aren't her specialty."

"You've got that right. But no. She's not the issue. Never was."

Sophie eyed him skeptically for a moment, before folding one of his shirts and tossing it in the bag. She smiled. "Eliot, then. With a little bit of Nate thrown in for good measure."

Alec smirked, knowing that he was deflecting. "How do you know _you're_ not the reason?"

"Because you've behaved towards me the way you've always done. And Eliot…"

"What about him?"

"I don't mean to imply anything, but. You're more watchful, recently. And there's the small fact that you took off- without warning the rest of us, mind you- and got yourself thrown in jail. Just to make certain that he was all right. You have to admit, that's not really your usual style."

"What's not?"

"I don't know, the impulsiveness? The risk? The grand, romantic gesture?"

"Grand _romantic_ \- what? No. Ain't like that." Alec was suddenly on edge, and the feeling didn't go away, even when Sophie relented.

It didn't dissipate, either, once she'd left.

\---

Eliot glanced back at the parking lot. Sophie and Hardison weren't here, yet, and Nate was already handing him a key and heading inside.

"Hardison's moving slow, it'll take him a while. They'll be fine. Might as well get settled in and enjoy the peace and quiet before he gets here with all his bells and whistles."

Eliot shouldered his bag and followed him inside. Instead of turning down the hall to the room he'd be sharing with Hardison, though, he followed Nate back to the suite. Parker was in the kitchenette eating cereal, and going through what looked like Sophie's belongings.

There were only two bedrooms, Eliot noted, but didn't mention it. That wasn't what had him concerned, anyhow.

"Have you guys been able to find any connection between Miller and Moreau?"

"Ah, no," Nate admitted, setting his laptop bag down on the table. "There doesn't seem to be one. So we're taking Moreau out of it for the time being."

"Just like that? I mean, Donovan _was_ part of Moreau's network."

"Yes, but Moreau's still out of play. We took out the head, and completely hobbled his network, but the people that made up that network, they're still out there." He glanced, puzzled, at Parker, who was folding Sophie's clothes into meticulous stacks. "And hitters for hire have to be _hired_ , right?"

"Sure, but guys in this line of work, they're smart. Moreau goes down, they scatter. They're not going to keep to the same patterns they used when working under Moreau. They're not _friends_." Eliot knew he was, in a sense, answering his own questions, but he needed to get his head around all this before it came back up to bite them in the ass.

"That's fine, because we're not concerned about _them_ ," Nate reasoned. "We're interested in whoever it is who _hired_ them."

"Nate, man, I just _said_ -" He sighed, irritated. "These guys, they work alone."

"Same as all of you, once upon a time." Nate finally seemed to notice what Parker was doing, and for a moment looked as if he was going to do something, before deciding against it. "Eliot? That first job. Why did you come work for me?"

Eliot thought back. "I still owed you for that blind eye in Toronto." Nate smirked. "But mostly because the money was good."

"Exactly. Someone with a bankroll can find people to work for him. _Sometimes_ ," he gestured at the Parker, "he can even get them to work together."

Eliot nodded, then remembered something else he'd been meaning to ask. "That note. It talked about a law-abiding citizen that we screwed over."

"What about it?"

"Any idea who he meant? 'Cause I've got nothing. It's weird, right?"

Nate shrugged. "I'm sure we'll get a lead sooner or later."

It wasn't what Eliot had meant, not at all. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he tried to find the words, but Parker stole them before he could get them out.

"Well, we only go after bad guys, don't we?"

\---

Alec had known Eliot would be in the room once he got back. Didn't mean he was _ready_ for it.

Or, well, more accurately, didn't mean he was ready to walk in to the slightly humid room, listening to the shower going off.

"Just me," he called out as he closed the room's door behind him, and the shower started up again.

Fuck, Eliot Spencer was naked on the other side of one door and one thin shower curtain. Possibly with soap running down his chest, the backs of his legs. Less than ten feet away.

Alec shook himself and made it twenty, dragging his stuff to the far bed. Eliot had already claimed the one closer to the door, and right now, Alec had never been so thankful for his overprotective streak.

 _Ain't seen it much, neither_ , his brain reminded him.

 _That ain't fair_ , he reminded his brain.

His brain was threatening to retaliate with a frame-by-frame of his insane conversation with Sophie, but then the water was shutting off again. He hurried to get himself seated on the bed, get the remote in his hand, flip the television on, anything, just to prove that he wasn't-

Wasn't doing whatever it is he hadn't been doing.

Eliot's hair was damp when he came out a few moments later, sweatshirt and jeans and bare feet that Alec would've made a crack about, if he'd had one ready. Instead, it was Eliot who got the first word in.

"Golden Girls? Really?"

Alec looked at the television, seeing it for the first time, and smirked.

"Well, you know. Bea Arthur is one sexy-"

"Don't even finish that sentence man, really."

Alec winced. Of course Eliot wasn't a Deadpool fan. Didn't read comics, didn't get it.

 _Him and Deadpool, though. Would be a fight worth watching_.

He flipped the channels for a few minutes longer, then gave up, shutting it off, not realizing it for the mistake that it was until the room went silent.

Now there wasn't anything to do but sit here and watch Eliot comb his hair, while his own brain made all sorts of unreasonable accusations and suggestions.

It was barely nine, and shaping up to be a very long night.

\---

This wasn't a big deal. They'd had to bunk up before, once or twice when the hotels had been full. Texas. Chicago. But it had been a while.

Not so long that he found himself having to argue over grabbing the bed closer to the door, though, and Hardison hadn't opened the blinds.

Maybe that was what was up with him. He knew that this wasn't like those other times.

They were rooming together because in all likelihood, someone- Donovan- was going to try and make a move very soon. Maybe tonight.

Hardison looked like he knew it, too. Lying in bed wide eyed, trying to distract himself with his computer, keeping quiet. Avoiding the hell out of him.

Which was for the best, really.

He might've had to tell himself that a few times, but it wasn't as if he had any better ideas. He wasn't really planning on even considering any that _did_ crop up. Because what then? He could apologize- again- for shit Hardison had said he'd already been cleared for. He could ask him about what he was up to, but then Hardison might actually start telling him, and they'd be here all night. He wanted to grab the ice bucket, but there wasn't any alcohol in the room.

And while he knew the liquor store down on the corner was probably still open, he wasn't about to fuck up by stepping out on a run.

There'd been a book in his bag, he dragged it out and couldn't remember having read it, though there was a receipt from the airport shoved in the middle. It wasn't much more interesting now, either, if the way his eyes kept getting drawn to Hardison's screen were anything to go by.

He forced himself to listen to the hotel's noises a while longer. The ice machine down the hall, the elevator closing down at the end, kids laughing down in the pool, faint but there. No footsteps outside the door, not yet anyway.

\---

He should've left the television on, gotten some noise in here. It was messing with his concentration.

And he _needed_ to concentrate. Donovan wasn't going to find himself, and Eliot wasn't helping, sitting in his bed and reading, wearing those glasses that Alec had half-thought were for disguise. He'd had to stop himself seven or eight times, now, from asking about them.

Even he could admit that he had issues, sometimes, with prioritization.

He was too startled not to glance up when Eliot spoke. "You alright? You haven't said anything in four hours."

Alec probably would've known how to respond if Eliot was looking at him, if he could get a read on what was going on, but Eliot's eyes were trained on his book.

He ignored the fact that Eliot's hair had dried all frizzy, stamped on the impulse- again- that had him wanting to reach out and find out what it felt like.

His brain was being randomly suicidal, picking up all sorts of unimportant crap. Like the fact that he hadn't heard any pages turning, not for a while now.

"Ah, yeah." Now that the silence had been broken, there wasn't any harm in shifting to a more comfortable position. "Just working. Trying to figure out who the hell Donovan is. What his game is, you know?"

This caught Eliot's attention. He looked up. "Any luck?"

"Maybe. I'm still missing a few pieces, got JARVIS running remotely, trying to pinpoint what's missing." He shrugged, glanced at the closed window. "You think he's on his way here?"

"Don't know," Eliot admitted, finally setting his book aside. Alec was probably imagining the shadows under his eyes. It was hard to tell, with Eliot looking away again. "It would be risky. He has to assume that we're on to him by now, that we're expecting him. So he's probably letting us cool off."

"That why you're still awake?"

"I'm still awake 'cause of your keyboards clackin' and making all that noise," Eliot smirked. "Seriously, man. You should turn that thing off, get some sleep or somethin' while you can."

There were a few things wrong with that plan. One, he'd be out a distraction- and the fact that researching a hitman had been relegated to the status of _distraction_ was not lost on him. On the plus side, he'd be able to take the painkillers he'd been holding off on.

 _Cause yeah. Getting stoned and careless is exactly what you want right now. You sure you don't talk in your sleep?_

Thankfully, JARVIS was starting to send document IDs to his laptop. There was still work to be done. "Meet you halfway," he offered, and shut off the lamp on the bedside table.

Eliot cast him a searching look before shrugging and doing the same. "I'm turning in. You hear anything, just scream like a girl or something."

  
\---

Eliot lay awake for a long time, listening to Hardison work and feeling too wired to sleep, too awkward to pretend not to.

It was nearly two in the morning before he heard the rattle of a pill bottle. He'd turned towards the door, but he could hear the keystrokes slowing, now, and the blue cast of the wall suddenly going dark. Hardison was turning in, finally.

Eliot wondered if he was good enough to recognize the point when Hardison finally fell asleep, but there were no distinctive sounds to guide him.

Nothing much more happened until breakfast, though Eliot was pretty sure he'd slept, somewhere in there.

\---

"So Donovan's a hired gun, and he comes in, makes us think he's after Eliot, and arranges to have Hardison attacked, instead of just taking him out when we're busy out here. Why?" Nate was busying himself with his eggs, and Eliot hadn't had nearly enough coffee yet, but he fielded this one.

"Because that was where we were, so he adapted. It's what I'd do."

"Right. We put a kink in his plan, and he got around it. Made an arrangement with Miller- that's probably how he got his hands on the earbud, and _definitely_ how he got the note passed across. He _then_ anted up by trying to kill Parker. Again, right there, he's being careful, indirect."

"Makes sense," Hardison finally said, finally showing up with his plate, clearly more exited about the buffet than anyone in their right minds would be. "I've been searching him out. Donovan's real name is Alexander Larson, but I've got him under five aliases that the feds don't even know about. He's wanted in almost every country _but_ the US."

"Probably American, then," Eliot explained when Sophie, picking at her toast, asked why. "You don't shit where you eat if you can help it." He frowned. "Which only means that the payment, whatever it is, is worth it. Even after he's paid off Miller. Unless he's blackmailing him."

"Given what Miller's been up to, he probably has plenty of material," Sophie agreed. "But either way, if Larson is the one running the game, that would explain why he didn't simply go back and blow your psychic act."

Eliot shrugged. That fact should've been bothering him before now.

Hardison stared at them worriedly for a moment before continuing. "Uh. Right. So anyhow, this all looks like it's in line with his M.O., which is to say, well. The reason he's never been extradited is that he's never been _proven_ to have a connection to any of the hinky cases he's been suspected in. Far as I can tell, he's more likely to poison your drink before the waitress brings it over to you, and be out the door before you take your first sip."

"Right. So. At this point, we still have to assume that any and all of us are his target," Nate blinked at the weary glares he was receiving from all sides. "On the plus side, he's not listening in any more."

"So how to we go after him?"

"We don't. We wait for him to come to us."

\---

It took most of the morning to get the audio recording of the shooting at Arlington's ranch prepped for backlogging into the police department's property and evidence, but it only took Parker and Sophie forty-five minutes to drop it and come back.

"I told them that I thought there'd been a mistake," Sophie said, taking off her badge. "They were very helpful, and discovered that, lo and behold, someone working the night shift must've been tired, transposed two digits of the case number. They even made me a copy. It really was remarkably easy."

"And I've got the numbers changed in the system. When they find that there's problems playing the digital file, they'll go for the cassette backup."

"Tara checked in about an hour ago," Nate said. "Sounds like Arlington's lawyer was very interested in overhearing that there were rumors that Gremminger's release may have been premature."

"No kidding," Alec replied. "Looks like she just made it to property and evidence, and- yeah, too bad, she's short a signature, they can't release the tape to her until she gets the paperwork straightened out. Soon as Arlington's defense hears she's been poking around, they're going to file their own request."

"Which needs to be completely hobbled, based off the fact that their client's been arrested for murder  
already."

Parker glanced up from the tangle of nylon on the floor. She'd been going over her gear for an hour now, inspecting every minute scratch. "How much time do we have?"

"We're gone in twenty," Nate confirmed.

\---

Eliot adjusted his earpiece as he climbed into the back of the van. They'd parked it on the ranch next to Arlington's, just over the side of the hill.

"You sure the landowners aren't coming back?"

"No, man. They're in Tempe. Daughter's wedding, we own this place." Hardison was already powering up his computers, getting monitoring set up. The tracker screen, Eliot could make sense of. They were on the other side of the hill, Tara and Parker's car was pulling up the drive, and Nate and Sophie's car were still ten minutes out.

"Hardison? How're we doing?" Nate's voice came over as soon as comms were on line.

"We've got visual, Eliot's…"

"We've got two exit points I can see," Eliot cut in. "Other than the driveway, but the terrain looks good, long as you remember what four wheel drive is for. I still don't think you guys need to stop in, though."

"He's right," Hardison agreed. "Kind of a risk, all us eggs, one small basket."

"Something goes wrong, we need to be able to respond immediately," Nate said. "I don't want to be half an hour out and hearing gunshots on the line."

"I don't want to hear any gunshots, _period_ ," Sophie corrected him. "We're just here as backup."

"Tara, you're our eyes. Keep them on Parker no matter what."

"I hear you," Tara said. "We're pulling in now." On the fifth cruiser's camera, Eliot could see the sedan pulling up and Tara getting out. Parker followed her, file folder clutched to her chest. "Excuse me," Tara was saying to the first officer she found. "I'm. _We're_ looking for Agent McSweeten?"

"Up on the patio, is she-"

Parker flashed her badge to the officer, and both of them were waved through.

"Guys, guys, I need to hear what's going on inside,"

"Radio's preset to their frequency," Hardison reminded him, already typing madly in another program, one of several that Eliot didn't recognize, as he zoomed in on Parker and Tara.

Eliot realized he was hovering, and sat down on an equipment case, eyes on the screen, watching Hardison work more than anything. He was good, Eliot knew as much, but he rarely saw him in action. Warning Nate about another cruiser about to pass them on the road in, feeding Parker enough cover information about the field office she'd been reassigned to.

"Anything I can do?" He asked, after about three minutes spent listening to McSweeten's pathetic attempts to chat up Parker.

"Nah, man. I got it," Hardison muttered, not even glancing back. His voice sounded surprised. "Thanks, though."

"You'd think that framing someone for murder would be made easier by virtue of the fact that they'd _actually_ been the murderer," Sophie was muttering to Nate before announcing that they were pulling in.

As expected, the officers stopped their car at the end of the driveway, and Nate and Sophie slipped into their church personas as they rolled down the windows to talk to them and explain that they were there to discuss the rehabilitation program.

"You're kidding," Nate was saying, surprised by the news. "I can't believe it. Arlington? You sure you've got the right guy?"

"That's what we intend to find out," the officer admitted. "I'm sorry, I can't let you up there right now."

"I understand," Nate said, which was true, given the fact that if they got much closer, Taggart, up ahead and talking with two suits, would probably be able to ID him. Thankfully, Taggart was keeping his eyes on the door of Arlington's house, or, probably more specifically, his partner and his partner's crush. Nate did manage, however, to get the officer going on a tangent about the weather, thereby justifying the fact that Sophie was watching the same exchange Taggart was.

"Okay, Parker,' Hardison cut in. "You were out on family leave. A sick aunt in New Jersey. She's fine, but…" Eliot's attention shifted, then, from what Hardison was saying to how it actually sounded, coming not only through the earpiece, but also from two feet away.

Fuck, this thing had been his lifeline while he'd been locked up, but he hadn't even realized what he'd been missing. The sound on the line was clear, but almost tinny. None of the warmth of his voice filtered through.

He hadn't even thought to miss it at the time, but sitting two feet away and hearing it? Much better. Even if it was about the only thing he was good for, stuck in here.

"Okay, Parker," Sophie was saying. "Lean towards him, just a little bit, as you hand the file over."

"He's got it," Hardison confirmed. "Nate?"

A moment later, Parker was going for her phone, answering.

"I need you back at the field office pronto. There's been a break in the Stewart case, I need you on a plane to Ohio ASAP. And don't pretend I didn't notice that you're jutting in on a case that's not yours. If it's that crush of yours aga-"

Parker slammed the phone shut, and it didn’t really matter if McSweeten heard Nate or not, he was smiling at Parker and then frowning, a bit, as she hurriedly made her excuses and muttered something about her nosy boss and all but bolted back to the car. Tara followed closely behind.

McSweeten watched as the car wound back down the driveway, right past the car where Nate and Sophie were still waiting, but he wasn't looking at them.

It wasn't until Parker and Tara were dots on the road that he glanced down at the file folder in his hands.

"Guys, I think we've got him."

"Okay," Nate replied. "We're pulling out. Good job, everyone."

\---

"Seriously, I can't believe that went off so damned easy," Alec said, shutting the last of the systems down and crawling up into the passenger seat as Eliot moved them back down the service road towards the ranch gate. "They never go this smooth."

"He's not in jail yet," Eliot muttered. "And Donovan's still out there."

"Larson."

"Whatever," Alec eased back into the seat, contemplating the painkillers in his pocket and deciding against them. They wouldn't kick in by the time they got back to the hotel, anyhow.

Eliot nodded, keeping his eyes on the road, scanning the cars and trucks ahead.

"We're at least five minutes behind everyone," Alec pointed out. "Ain't gonna see them."

"Not just looking for them," Eliot muttered, apparently overcompensating for the fact that he'd been more or less relegated to Alec's chauffer for this part of the job.

"Oh. Right. So much for the post-job buzz. Killjoy."

Eliot smirked, then, eased up off the gas a bit. A few minutes later, he even turned on the radio. Classic rock, but at least it wasn't country.

They were getting close to the city limits; the traffic was getting heavier, here. Rush hour, it turned out, didn't go away because someone arrested a dirty Sheriff. They were just pulling into the hotel parking lot when Eliot's phone rang, but by the time he could've answered, there wasn't a point.

Nate was standing in the open door of the car, pale and sweating and horrified. He was also alone, the passenger side door hanging obscenely open, gripping his phone tight enough that Alec could see his whitened knuckles from here.

Eliot didn't pull in, just slammed on the breaks and opened the door. Nate waved madly towards the street, his voice actually _scared_.

"Larson's got a gun, and he's got Sophie. Silver Maxima, license plate ends with TRB, just _go_!"


	13. Chapter 13

Eliot was driving five miles over the speed limit and aiming for six. Hardison had comms back up and running before Eliot had gone two blocks in the direction Nate had pointed, but wasn't going to make a bit of difference. They'd already crossed two intersections and were coming up on a third, and the only thing going for them was the hope that Donovan was more interested in gaining speed and distance.

Though it wasn't like they were close enough behind him that he couldn't have afforded to slow down to make a turn.

This was a complete waste of time, but Eliot edged the van up to make the next light.

He managed not to say it out loud, though. Maybe the others already knew, maybe he just didn't want to be the one to tell them. This chase wasn't going to get them anywhere. That's not how this kind of thing played out.

Back at the hotel, Parker was trying to get Nate calmed down enough to repeat what had happened.

"He was waiting for us, I saw that his car was on, but the lights were pointing out and I couldn't see him. Tara had just dropped Parker off, and. I just. Didn't think anything of it, really, until. I was leaning into the back seat to grab the phone charger; it had fallen between the seats. Sophie was getting out and when I looked up, Larson was getting out of his car, already had a beam on her."

"And he forced her into the car?" Parker prompted. "Front seat, back or trunk?"

"He pointed the gun at me, tossed some zip cuffs at her feet, and told her to put them on. She didn't want to- well, _obviously_ , but I told her that if she didn't, he'd just shoot her next. He made her open the passenger side door and get in, and then they were gone. Fuck, it didn't take more than a minute." Nate took a breath, then another. He was trying to steady his nerves. "Hardison, tell me you've got something."

"Running the license plate, came up easy. Car's stolen. I'm trying to tap into the street cameras, see if I can find him, but it's a long shot."

"Any ideas where he'd take her?" Eliot winced as the light turned yellow, too far ahead. Somewhere ahead of them, or maybe already behind them, Larson and Sophie were gaining even more ground.

"No," Nate said, after a moment. "You?"

Eliot could feel Hardison's eyes on him again, surprisingly heavy.

"No."

The light turned green. Eliot accelerated.

\---

They'd gone nine miles east, were already in Tempe, by the time Nate gave up.

"This isn't going to work," he admitted. "Get back here."

The defeat in his tone bled through the comms, and there wasn't anything more to be said, anyhow. Instead of making a u-turn, though, or making right turns to go back around the block to get them heading back west, Eliot changed lanes to wait for the left turn arrow.

"What're you doing?"

"Widening the swath," Eliot muttered. "Maybe we'll luck out."

A mile north, they turned west again. Their route was nothing more than a small chance within a small chance, but Eliot's knuckles were white on the wheel and it didn't look like he needed Alec to point it out.  
Instead, he swung his head around at every intersection, searched up every street and glanced at every car they passed.

He mostly just hoped.

\---

It wasn't until they were back at the hotel parking lot that Hardison, still glaring at the screen on his open laptop as they entered the stairwell, finally said whatever he'd been sitting on the entire drive back.

"So. How's this going to play out?"

Eliot sighed, going into the pocket for his keys before changing his trajectory and heading towards Nate's room instead. He didn't want to have to go over all of this twice. "Depends on a lot of things."

"Right."

Parker swung the door open when they were still fifteen feet from it, her eyes wide, worried, and clearly trying to warn them. It wasn't hard to guess why.

Nate was standing by the dresser, pouring himself a drink and not looking at any of them. When Eliot quirked a brow at Parker, she flashed four fingers.

They really didn't need Nate drunk on top of all this. But it was usually Sophie who kept him in line.

He waited until Nate finally crossed back to the windows to move in and pour himself a drink. He didn't want it, not really, but it gave him the excuse to position himself between Nate and the bottle if the need arose.

Hardison was plugging his computer in, and getting Nate's up and online as well, and Parker was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Right now, nobody was looking at him, but that would change in a minute.

When it did, though, it felt wrong. It should've been Nate firing off directions, already having plans A through D already sorted out. It shouldn't have been Parker sounding so damned hopeless.

"What're we going to do?"

"We wait," Eliot muttered, warily approaching Nate. "He didn't shoot her. Means he needs her. She's still alive."

Nate, who'd aged ten years in half an hour, shook his head. "He attacked you, coordinated Hardison's stabbing with Miller, and sabotaged Parker's line." He sipped his drink and dropped the curtain back into place. He looked worn out, but his eyes were still a bit wild. "I'm not putting anything past him."

"Okay, man. I hear you. But odds are, he's gonna call, make his demands, and we'll finally have a hook into this entire scene. We're gonna need you lucid when that phone rings, okay?"

"Fine."

Parker had apparently figured out where this was going, and was over at the minibar brewing a pot of coffee when Eliot came back towards the couch. Hardison was bouncing between two computers, cursing to himself in frustration.

"What's your problem, man? We gotta be ready."

"I've got trace running on any incoming calls, and they're set to record directly to the system so I can clean up any background noise if we need to. I'm monitoring every cell tower within fifty miles in case he's not using a landline."

"That's good," Parker said, sitting on the table in front of them. "Isn't it?"

"Apart from the fact that I shouldn't have to be doin' any of this, yeah, it's good. What I can't find is Larson's destination."

"No shit," Eliot sighed, leaning over to look at the screen. "So what're you doing, anyhow?"

"I'm tapped into the city's street camera feeds, trying to trace his route from here. Nice sunny afternoon, they'd work great, but the sun was just going down and people were starting to turn their headlights on, which means that there's a lot of glare coming off every license plate on every car." Hardison winced, rolling his shoulders. His side had to be killing him by now. "It's just really slow going."

"And he'll probably change cars at some point, anyhow."

Eliot shot Parker a quick glare, but she wasn't wrong. Hardison missed it; he was still scowling at his screen. "You telling me I should stop looking?"

"No," Nate said, staring at his phone and willing it to ring.

A moment later, it did.

\---

Alec patched into the call from his computer, turning up the volume so Parker and Eliot could hear.

"Hello? Who is this? Why are you doing this? She's done nothing to you."

"Of course not. This is just business," Larson said. "Don't waste my time with stupid questions. The question you _should_ be asking is this. Who would want to see this happen to her?"

Already, the call had been traced to a phone number. Alec bit back a curse as he pointed at the screen so Eliot and Parker could see. It was a pay phone in Glendale. It would take over half an hour to get there if they left right now.

"Is she all right?"

"Sophie is fine, and she'll stay that way as long as you behave. Ten grand. Cash."

"Like you said, just business. You know who we are, then you know we can work something out between us."

"That's true. And I'm a dead man three days later. I'm not an idiot, Mr. Ford."

"I never said you were." Nate winced, like he knew how foolish that play had been and was expecting it to kick back in his face. "Ten grand. Fine. I don't exactly have that in my wallet right now, and you know that, so what's the time frame?"

"My employer will contact you tomorrow morning at ten with further instructions. In the meantime, I suggest availing yourself of the best thief in the world, since I hear she's back in the game. Normally, I'd remind you that going to the authorities would be problematic, but given the circumstances of your business here in town I hardly think that's necessary."

"Understood. We'll do whatever you want, just. I want proof of life."

"And you'll get it tomorrow morning," Larson said, and hung up the phone.

\---

Nate was already heading for the door. "Did you get all that?"

"Yeah, but only because Larson _let_ us," Hardison said. "He's at a gas station in Glendale. Knows we'd be tracking the call, and didn't even try to cut it short."

That brought Nate to a standstill in the middle of the room. He looked lost, as if not having expected to find himself there. He took a breath, pulled himself together.

"Eliot? Parker? You know the drill. We need ten grand, unmarked."

Parker was petting her gear bag like it was a horse that needed to be talked into leaving the stable, but Eliot was more vehement about his wariness. He stood up, startling Nate. "No, man. You go, back up Parker. I'll stay here with Hardison."

"But-"

"All he wants is ten grand, Nate. It's a joke. Whatever this is, the money's less important than Larson's client getting his rocks off. He specifically mentioned sending Parker out to get the ransom, and we don't know that he's the only one on the payroll. There could be someone else."

Nate's frustration had been turning into anger, and it was beginning to boil over as he stepped up into Eliot's space. "Which is _why_ I need you out there, backing her up and doing your goddamned _job_."

Eliot clenched his fists but didn't back down. They didn't need this shit right now. "Listen, man. If they know that Parker's doing a nighttime break-in, they'll probably expect that I'll be going out to back her up, like I always do. Which leaves you and Hardison hanging out here, in the open."

"You're saying we can't handle ourselves in a fight?" Hardison quipped wryly, and there were a thousand retorts just begging for release, but now wasn't the time to get sidetracked.

"Not like I can." Surprisingly, Nate seemed to be giving him the floor. "So far, we've all been fucked with. Me, Hardison, Parker, Sophie. If the pattern holds," he gestured at Nate, "then you're next. So we let them find me instead."

"And if they're actually going to go for Parker again? You said it yourself, with such a low ransom, they're setting up a trap, and they mentioned her by _name_. So you wanna tell me what happens then?"

Parker scoffed. "No offense, but I'm pretty good at the entire not getting caught by bad guys thing."

"And we still don't actually know that anyone is coming after _any_ of us," Hardison added, reaching into his bag and pulling out a notebook, but Eliot was too busy staring Nate down to notice what he was doing. A moment later, he could see him handing the notebook to Parker.

"Passing notes, now?" Nate muttered. He'd seen it too. "What is this, high school?"

Rolling her eyes as she scrawled across the page, Parker tossed the notebook to Nate, who read it and passed it along.

 _Comms are secure, but I don't know that this room isn't bugged. You have a location in mind? I'll get started on their systems soon as you're on the road._

Underneath was Parker's reply.

 _Wells Fargo. West Washington, by city hall. Basic ADT systems upgraded with Hawkes T-390 sensors._

Nate was still scowling when Eliot looked up again, but he seemed ready to cede the point.

Two minutes later, he was following Parker out the door.

\---

Once they were gone, Alec waited a minute before speaking.

"You really think someone's coming?"

"No," Eliot shook his head, then smirked, pulling his room key out of his pocket, as well as his earbud, though he didn't yet insert it. "But if Nate stayed here all night, he'd just wind up gettin' drunk, and we don't need that hassle. Where's the webcam?"

"In the van, but they're built into the laptops, too. Why?"

"Get Nate's up and running, patch a feed into yours. We're heading back to the other room."

Alec stood up, stretching. "You really do think someone's coming, don't you?"

"Always." Eliot smirked, nodding towards the door. "C'mon. Least in there, you can lie down while you're doin' your thing."

"I'm fine."

Eliot rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "You should listen to me. You need to give it a rest when you can."

"So sayeth the great Eliot Spencer?"

"I've been stabbed more often than you." To underscore his point, he raised the hem of his shirt, pointing at a jagged scar on the side of his abdomen. There were two others that Alec could barely make out, scattered across very nice abs.

 _Showoff_.

Eliot pulled his shirt back into place with a shrug. "Or you could just stretch out in here." He'd already been derailed by Eliot's skin, and the mention of lying down wasn't doing him any favors. But Eliot was gesturing back at Nate's bed. "I'm sure Nate wouldn't mind."

That settled it. He aimed Nate's computer towards the door and set it to alert his own the moment anyone came inside, and then began gathering up his things. "Just grab me a cup of coffee first, would you?"

It wasn't until they were heading back into their room that he noticed Eliot had stolen the entire pot.

\---

Eliot sat at the desk and tried to think, listening to Hardison talking Parker and Nate through the bank heist. It all seemed to be going smoothly. Mostly, he kept one eye on the door and one ear in the hallway.

But Parker and Nate were already on their way back, five minutes before the next guard patrol, reporting that it had gone off without a hitch. Alec set the timer on the alarms to go off in another ten, checked the camera footage once more to make sure he hadn't missed anything, and backed out of the system.

"We're clear," Hardison said, rearranging the pillows so he could stretch out comfortably. "This is getting too damned easy."

"The hell it is," Nate grumbled, but it wasn't surprising. He'd been bitching and moaning this entire time, and as much as Eliot would've liked to yank his earpiece out, he wasn't taking it off until they'd made it back to their room. "No sign of anyone back at the hotel?"

"No," Hardison said, checking his screen again.

"So then, this entire plan," Nate's tone was equal parts annoyed and amused, and Eliot knew where this was going. "Sending me out instead of Eliot was just a waste of-"

"Never hurts to be cautious," Hardison interrupted before Eliot even got the chance, then pulled out his earpiece, palming it for a moment. "Saved me from having him breathin' down my neck this whole time. Thanks, man."

Then the earpiece was in again- like it was nothing, no big deal, Eliot could stop preening now- and they were all listening to Parker giving the play by play, her voice happy and more relieved than she'd probably cop to.

\---

The painkillers were nearly enough to knock Alec out cold, but it wasn't likely that Eliot was going to relax until everyone was present and accounted for, and the two cups of coffee he'd downed while waiting probably weren't doing him any favors, either. Maybe it was revenge for last night.

"You're still awake?"

"Yeah," Alec gave up and opened his eyes. "Wired, man. Thought it would've taken 'em longer to get done at the bank. Shouldn't have had that coffee."

Through the dark, Alec could see Eliot's hand twitching towards the earbud again. They'd both gone offline a while ago, after an hour spent listening to Nate getting drunk in his room, spinning dangerous plans and angrily worrying. They should've stolen the whiskey along with the coffee pot. Eliot must have remembered it, too, his hand dropping down and aborting the motion.

They'd both removed them about an hour after Nate and Parker had gotten back, when the vitriol and the anger was starting to boil over and turn into something they were going to have to talk about, knowing the words would only make things worse. "He's a mess, ain't he?"

"Yeah."

"You think he's going to do something stupid?"

"Probably." Eliot rolled over onto his back. "I mean, it's _Sophie_. But I can't say I'm looking forward to it."

"I hear you." Sophie kept Nate from going off the edge, but she was also the person most likely to _send_ him crashing over. Whatever Larson's employer wanted, this had to be part of it. "You think this is the main play?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well. You, me, Parker, now Sophie. Attack after attack on the family, you know?" He wasn't sure where he was going, and Eliot's lack of reply wasn't heartening. "I don't know. I'm stoned, here. Never mind."

Eliot was sitting up, though. "You might be onto something. Arlington was the objective, Miller was the distraction, but it's starting to feel like they were just the tools. Take them out of it, and what do we got?"

"Someone gunning for all of us?"

Eliot nod hurriedly, then filled in what Alec had missed. "If this _is_ a money thing, well, Sophie's ransom would probably be a lot larger. I doubt the ten grand even covers what Larson's being paid. The money's not the point, and the heist wasn't a trap. Which means that the handoff _will_ be. But it also means that the money's not the point, here, it's _us_.

"So who would be that angry? I mean, all the jobs we've pulled, it's got to be a long list, but this is, like Count of Monte _Cristo_ levels of game."

Eliot snorted.

"What? I read."

"Not that." Without warning, Eliot turned on the bedside light. Pushing himself up, he grabbed Alec's computer, opened it up and stared at the login screen.

"Hey, man," Alec complained. "Walking wounded, here. I need my sleep."

"Like that was ever going to happen," Eliot shook his head, blinking against the light, scowling at the screen like he couldn't remember why he grabbed it. "You keep tabs on our jobs, right? After we finish them? Make sure nobody's coming after us?"

"Permanent windows built into their electronic activity, JARVIS puts up red flags when it starts looking hinky. Cash transactions, travel arrangements, new developments in the court cases. But the only real issues lately have all been tied to the Boston PD's quarterly review. Cops trying to bump up their numbers by going over old cases. Like, ah. The warehouse fire."

"Right," Eliot grimaced, deflating a bit, and yeah, it had been the wrong thing to say. But Alec didn't want to talk about it either, even if what he had wasn't much better.

"But yeah, apart from that, it's been quiet. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Only means whatever's going on, they're good enough to not leave a trail."

If Eliot was trying to goad him, it was working. Alec sat up and reached out for the computer, trying to formulate a list of other parameters he could enter into the equation. Unfortunately, he was still coming up blank once he'd logged in.

Eliot seemed to guess as much. "What you said, I'm just spinning, here, but. People don't get into the vengeance game for nothing. It might be just business for Larson, but whoever hired him, it's personal. And the way they're playing it," Eliot frowned in frustration, like he couldn't find the words. It took him a while to finish. "They're gunning for our family, means we probably took out theirs."

Alec swallowed, training his eyes on the computer, not sure where this weird feeling in his chest was coming from. It might've been from hearing Eliot actually come out and refer to the crew as family, but it might've been from the realization that, yeah, the fallout from their jobs _could_ go that far, even though they'd never gone so far as to go after someone's family. "How can you be so sure?"

"I'm not. But you said it yourself. Count of Monte Cristo. This feel like payback to you? Or revenge?" Eliot spoke quietly, sounding a little like he'd dead-ended, and worse, looked almost ready to admit it.

Thankfully for both of them, Alec Hardison was a genius, and he was starting to get an idea.

"Okay," he said, not yet knowing where his brain was going, but wanting to wipe that expression off Eliot's face. "So. What we're looking for, it would've happened in conjunction to a job. We go in and look at old targets, from there we look at their families, girlfriends. Separations, divorce proceedings, any other shit that could come as a side effect of having their evil plans being thwarted 'cause of what we did..."

Eliot brightened slightly. "That something you can do?"

Alec closed his eyes and refused to look at the clock. The painkillers were working, keeping the ache at bay, and they were making him tired. They were grasping at straws, and this- whatever this turned out to be- might not even be a break in the case, could just be another false lead. But he'd worked with less, and the guilt, if he didn't try, would keep him up all night anyway. "Yeah. Might take a while, though."

"There's still a few cups left in the pot," Eliot suggested.

A few minutes later, he was handing Alec another coffee and sitting on the edge of his bed, sipping his own. Then he asked, "Anything else I can do to help?"

Alec tapped at the keys a few times, just to cover for how thrown he'd been by the question. There wasn't anything for him to do, not really, but the fact that he'd actually _offered_ had Alec wishing otherwise.

"You could keep my ass awake," he eventually decided, before hitting on an idea. "And I'm probably going to need help remembering who the players were, which jobs we've pulled. Start from the beginning, work our way forward."

Eliot grabbed a notepad from the desk, but instead of sitting down, or moving back to his own bed, he came around the other side of Alec's bed. "Easier to track if I can see what you're doing, and Nate's already pissed enough, so…"

Alec felt himself nodding as seventeen bad ideas that would've been fun anyway flashed through his head. Turning back to the computer, he pretended not to notice the dip in the mattress as Eliot sat next to him, just inches away, eyes already on the screen.

"First one was Victor Dubenich," Eliot said, settling back against the headboard as Alec opened the query function. "The aerospace guy. What's he been up to?"

\---

This wasn't one of Eliot's better ideas. He'd made a few notes, sketched out timelines to remind him of the order as they worked through their old cases. Hardison's eyes never deviated from the screen, never shot his way, which would've been a relief it if weren't for the fact that he could feel how tensely Hardison was holding himself.

It might've just been the painkillers wearing off. It might've been Hardison's internal systems trying not to respond to a threat.

Alec leaned over a bit as he angled the screen to show him that while Jenkins was still in prison over the Castleman fiasco, Dufort's lawyers were appealing to have him moved to a low-security facility. The words on the screen didn't mean much, they were moving on, but. The movement, Hardison's shoulder pressing against his own, not flinching away.

Maybe Hardison wasn't as terrified of him as he'd thought.

Or maybe it was just too late at night to be trying to sort this all out.

The next time he was able to focus on the task at hand, he found himself in the very strange position of looking over Hardison's shoulder as he brought up Aimee's case.

Aimee. He hadn't thought about her in a while, and while Hardison focused his search on Alan Foss, the financier who'd burned down the stables. There'd been a flash of her name on the screen, something about a wedding announcement that the computer system had pulled up as an aside, but it hadn't been relevant to the search.

It didn't stop him from wondering what she was up to. Right now, she was probably crashed out with some guy she called "husband" and wasn't thinking about Eliot at all. If she were, though, she probably wouldn't be picturing him barefoot in bed with another guy, wondering if he was sitting too close, rethinking everything he'd said all night, debating again the motivations that had gotten him to this point.

A few minutes of checking for Foss's next of kin, though, and Hardison was shaking his head. Eliot crossed Foss off the list with a bit more vehemence than he'd been expecting.

"So," Hardison said, and this time it was his elbow brushing Eliot's arm as he brought up a new query. "Who's next?"


	14. Chapter 14

"You sure about this?"

He could understand Eliot's misgivings-they weren't even halfway through the list, yet- but it was nearly five in the morning. He didn't have the energy to explain _how_ he knew. He just did. Still, he forced himself to step back a moment, ran a mental check to make sure he wasn't half dreaming it. "Yeah," he said. "It's him."

\---

The duffel bag sat on the edge of the bed; Nate was staring at it when they came in, and though Parker had removed the screen and was sitting in the open window, the room still reeked of sweat and whiskey.

Alec had never been so glad to have good news in his life, but Eliot was the one who broke it.

"Nate, man. We know who it is."

\---

"Dennis Retzing. Former manager of the family business, and current resident of the Stillwater Halfway House." Hardison turned the screen around so they could see his mug shot. "He was released from prison three months ago, because there wasn't any way to get around the fact that he'd been brought in under entrapment."

Nate's lip curled. "Why are you just telling us this now?"

"Because JARVIS looks for unusual activity, and none of this is unusual," Alec bit back a sharper retort. "Half of the people we put away, they're released within eighteen months, man. You know this."

"Fine," Nate grumbled, blinking bloodshot eyes and trying to get himself back in the game. "So what makes you think it's him?"

"This," Alec brought up another screen, a death certificate registering the heart attack of Henry Retzing. " Dennis was trying to make the case to move him to a better facility, but it went too slowly. Henry died about a year ago, in jail."

"So that's what set him off?" Parker sat down on the edge of the table, craning her neck to see.

"It gets worse," Eliot muttered, waving at Alec, urging him on.

"Randy Retzing was acquitted of all charges, mostly because Dennis and Henry copped to everything, and judging by the court transcripts, it seems that his general incompetence when it came to the family business did the rest. If y'all remember, he wasn't exactly the biggest threat we've gone up against, so he wasn't flagged for monitoring."

"Yeah, okay Hardison. You and I, we're going to have to have a talk about your metrics," Nate said, but the vitriol was gone from his voice.

"Believe me, man, I got the message loud and clear. Anyhow. Randy was broke, his family was in prison, but he still had his trust-fund brat friends to fall back on. Which brings us to six months ago." Alec brought up the other death certificate he'd found. "He overdosed in a friends condo in San Diego."

"Oh." Parker was the only one who spoke. Nobody else quite felt up to it, and Alec couldn't blame them. If they were thinking along the same lines he was, they were probably thinking that yeah. All that? Would be enough to drive a man to this point.

Nate though, was already thinking ahead. "So what do we know about his activities since he's been released?"

"Nothing, really. None of his accounts were accessed, not that there was much of anything in them."

"So how's he doing all this?"

"He had another overseas account that nobody knew about, not even his family. I only managed to find it because he'd signed for a FedEx document about three months back. Seems that even before the little wire fraud that he got busted for, he'd been setting himself up something nice. Made some investments from this account, and," he brought up the financial summary. Parker whistled. "Yeah. He's still got a few million, even after withdrawing a million dollars, which, tracing it along, bring us to the purchase of four plane tickets going into Boston and two coming here, to Phoenix. He also spent a few weeks withdrawing lump cash sums, and I'm pretty sure these were handed off to Larson and his cronies."

"Two tickets?"

"One for Larson, one for himself."

"How'd he know where to find us?"

"That, I don't know," Alec admitted. "Guess you're gonna have something to talk to him about when he calls."

\---

Now that they had a target to aim at, Eliot wanted nothing more than to launch himself directly at it, but there was no getting around the fact that if he didn't get some sleep soon, he'd just end up making a mistake, possibly a dangerous one. And that just wasn't an option.

Nate had suggested that they all try and get a few hours rest, whether he was likely to follow his own advice, Eliot didn't know. Parker seemed content enough to watch cartoons on the suite's television, though Hardison, once Eliot went back to the room, was already crashed out.

Eliot went as far as taking his shoes off before lying down, but beyond that, he didn't remember much beyond the sensation of the mattress underneath him and the alarm clock going off far to soon.

Then it was time to hurry up and wait, and he was slogging back to Nate's suite, slamming back another cup of coffee as he watched Hardison get the phones and computers prepped.

Unfortunately, asking him if he was ready, already, wasn't moving the process along much.

Nate was a complete freakin' mess. Hard to look at, even with the windows open and the sunlight pouring in. It only revealed what Eliot had already known- sweating skin, tense eyes, twitching fingers. It was impossible, however, to tell if he was about to snap, or if he'd done so already. Reading Parker for clues was more useless than usual; she was dozing on the couch, as if the fact that they were about to get a ransom demand wasn't worth getting up for. Everywhere else, though, the adrenaline was surging unevenly, and Eliot wanted to punch something.

He talked himself down for the third time in half an hour, told himself he was saving it up for something useful.

Hardison finally had them up and running with no more than seven minutes to spare.

The phone only rang once before Nate answered.

"This is Nate."

"How lovely for you." The voice was disguised, but he was using one of those hand-held devices, not running it through a filter. He probably didn't know how much of his voice was coming through. Still, though, Eliot probably wouldn't have recognized the sneering manner of speech if he hadn't already known it was Retzing.

"You have the money?"

"I do. Let me talk to Sophie first."

There was a rustling on the line, whatever was happening sounded awkward, and then Sophie whined irritably before speaking.

"Hello, everyone," she said dryly. "I hope you all slept well."

" _Sophie_ ," Nate's relief at hearing her voice was palpable, but it was changing to something else already. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. My- forgive me for not mentioning his name, but he's got a gun pointed at my head- my _friend_ and I passed a rather awkward, but thankfully non-violent evening."

"Good, that's good. Ah, Sophie, we're going to do everything he wants, so you just hang in there."

Sophie didn't respond, and a moment later, Retzing's disguised voice was on the line again. "You know she's alive and unharmed. I have no desire to kill her, and though I know _your_ tendencies lead elsewhere, I suggest you play along."

Nate argued, a bold move even though Retzing wasn't nearly the unknown quantity he'd been yesterday. "We don't kill-" Nate's eyes flinched in Eliot's direction as he corrected himself. "We've never set out to kill anyone."

Glaring out the window so he wouldn't have to look anyone in the eye, Eliot wasn't so certain. As if picking up on his brainwaves, Retzing laughed, brittle and electronic.

"But you _have_ , haven't you? Anyhow, this nicely brings us to the point. Sophie is alive, for now, and will _stay_ that way as long as you follow these instructions to the letter."

"I'm listening," Nate said.

"You have one hour to get down past Chandler on Interstate 10, and I suggest you move quickly. You have thirty minutes patch me into your communications system. I'll have my earpiece on, you'll have yours, and we'll have a charming conversation. I'll tell you what you need to do. Of course, if you decide to disobey, Sophie, as distasteful as it is, will come to harm. Do you understand?

"I do."

"Then I'll see you there. One hour."

\---

Nate's expressions were coming too quickly to contemplate, so in between keystrokes, Alec watched Eliot instead.

"I don't like it," Eliot muttered, as soon as Nate hung up.

"Of course you don't," Parker said, hefting the duffel bag experimentally, then dropping it again, at loose ends.

"No, Parker." Nate rubbed a hand over his face. "He's right. This is a trap."

"Probably is," Eliot agreed. "That's not the problem. It's too easy, both sides get away too clean. Means there's something up his sleeve that he's not talkin' about."

"Hardison?" Nate asked. "You able to get anything off of that?"

"Only that he made the call from a hotel out in Mesa, so that's probably where he's been holding Sophie. But I'll bet you anything they're already on the move." He glanced up briefly from the screen. "As far as his instructions go, there's nothing by way of traffic cameras that far out of town. There are a few satellites in the area, though, I should have them online in a bit, here. "

"All right. Any chance you can do that on the road?"

Hardison was already standing, unplugging the laptop, but Nate waved him back to his seat. "Not yet."

\---

"Okay. We've got to move fast," Nate was saying. "Hardison? Get Tara on the phone, I want her waiting in the wings if this all goes to shit. Get her copies of everything you've got on Retzing and Larson, Miller if you've got it." His eyes were sharper than they'd been for days, now, but there was no telling where this was going. "Eliot? Parker? Ah. Go make sure we have everything we need in the van."

Parker's eyes widened; neither of them liked hearing Nate talking in terms of Worst Case Scenarios, but at least going out to the van meant getting out of here and them the illusion that they were _doing_ something.

Eliot had to hurry to keep up.

"How do you think this is going to play out?" she asked, hauling the van door open and crawling inside.

"Wish I knew." He grabbed the crate Parker shoved towards the doorway and hefted it back inside. He'd made three trips before she spoke again.

"You really think Sophie's going to be okay?" Parker wasn't usually the type to ask for reassurances. Then again, she'd been in close quarters with Nate all night, and he'd been broadcasting worry and rage at an astounding volume.

"I'll make sure of it," Eliot promised, though he knew why they were making room. The back of the van was cramped enough without people trying to crowd in to treat injuries. Parker, thinking along the same lines, brought several bottles of water and another stack of towels from inside the hotel, shoving them in the corner in back as if preparing for blood was something they did every day.

For the most part, they worked silently, efficiently. It was cruel to think it, but Parker did always work best under pressure.

 _Suppose hanging off the edges of buildings gets you used to life or death_.

He had to stop thinking like this before the others came down. Parker could deal, sure, bloody fatalism came naturally to her, but Nate? Hardison? This was going to be a bad scene. He didn't need them losing their nerve before they'd even got started.

Best to be quietly prepared for the worst, anyway. No need to draw their attention to it.

\---

Alec had gotten Tara on the phone, but Nate had taken over, explaining what was going on.

It wasn't hard to notice that nothing resembling a sane plan ever really came up, especially with Tara's angry tone audible even from across the room. Nate looked like he was thinking about throwing his cell out the window.

 _Thing is, she's right_.

This wasn't a plan. This was _walking into a trap_ , which only resembled a plan insofar as they were deciding to do it in advance. It didn't matter how loudly Nate argued with Tara, it was still Retzing calling the shots.

If it weren't for the insane glint in Nate's eye as he ended the call, Alec might've called him on it.

\---

They'd been on Interstate 10 for twenty minutes when there was a click on the comms line. Eliot glanced out the window, checked his mirrors. Odds were, Retzing was in a car, not too far away. Probably following from a distance.

"Hello, Dennis," Nate ground out, but over the comms, without line of sight on the expression he wore, his voice sounded more glib than nervous. It was a strong opening.

But not strong enough.

"Ah, so you've figured it out. Not that I thought you were completely incompetent, but, you never know."

"Which makes me wonder why you weren't straight with us from the start," Nate shrugged. "You had to know we'd get there." This wasn't as strong a play, even as a means to buy time. It wasn't as if Nate didn't already know the answer, though Retzing explained it anyway.

"Because this way, I'm inside your head. Admit it, Ford, you've been running just to keep up for days now. I wanted you to really _think_ about what you'd done. That's all this is about. Tell me, Nate. What would you do if your family was destroyed?"

"Only thing you've got working in your favor is the fact that it hasn't been. You should be grateful."

"You and I both know that's not true. Look around you, Ford. The faces of your team. How're they doing? Confident? The usual happy-go-lucky attitudes riding high?"

Eliot glanced back in the rearview to scan their faces. Parker looked wired, like she was about to burst out of her skin at the slightest provocation. Hardison was nervous, watching Nate's anger out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to work on his laptop. Looking back to the road again, Eliot tried to decide what he was feeling right now.

Honestly? He wanted to kill Retzing. Beyond that, there was nothing.

Nate wasn't answering Retzing's jibes, which was a good move. No need confirming anything. Retzing was just fishing, even if he wasn't that far off. All this _had_ shaken things up. Too soon, yet, to tell how it would all fall out.

"So how're we going to play this?" Nate asked.

"Get off at Highway One and head south on St. Peters one mile. Toss the cash out of the window and continue on for another half mile. You will not stop your vehicle until you've reached that point, and you will at no point turn around. Do you understand?"

"I hear you."

"Good. I'll pull up, grab the money, and let your precious Sophie out of the car once I see that you've held up your end of the bargain. She will then walk to your vehicle. If I see it moving even an _inch_ in our direction before she's reached you, well. I've got our friend Donovan here, with me. He's a good shot."

"What, no face to face handoff?" Eliot flinched at the boldness of Nate's words, glancing sideways at Nate. This was just stupid, goading Retzing like this, especially since he'd just admitting to having firearms in the same vehicle as Sophie. But Nate shook his head as his eyes met Eliot's. "You're kind of limiting your chances for one last shot at revenge, here."

"Honestly, Nate? If I got within ten feet of you, I'd probably just kill you. But unlike _some_ , I'm not a murderer. Just never had the heart for it."

"So this. All this, it's not about the money, it's just about making us squirm."

"Yes. And showing you a _tiny_ bit of what I _could_ do, if I wanted to. What I _will_ do, if I get even the _tiniest_ suspicion that you're in the same time zone as me."

Nate nearly laughed. "I gotta say, Dennis. You're good. I'd hire you on myself if the feeling wasn't mutual."

"I'll take that as a compliment, then."

\---

While Nate talked with Retzing, Alec went stared at his screen until he was sure that he had it. Tapping Nate on the arm, he waited for his nod before motioning for Eliot and Parker to take out their earbuds.

"Satellite signal's weak out here, but I managed to get the imagery of the area we're heading to. Nothing there by way of cover, it's just the usual county roads criss-crossing at one mile intervals. A few shallow drainages and a little scrub brush, but that's it. On the plus side, there's nowhere for him to hide in wait. On the minus side, there's nowhere for _us_ to hide, either. No cars out there as of five or so minutes ago."

"He's got to be a lot closer than that. Probably following us," Eliot muttered. When Alec blinked in confusion, he pointed at is ear, then glanced out the rearview again. "Don't these things need a relay for anything larger than a mile or so?"

"Ah, yeah, if we're going off the cell towers," Alec paused, watching Nate pull his earbud out with a grimace. Apparently he and Retzing had run out of things to talk about. "But there aren't any out here, we're on a satellite relay. He could be anywhere in the western states and still hear us."

Eliot's scowl deepened, but he said nothing. Just kept driving. Another ten minutes and they'd be there.

\---

Everything they'd found out about Retzing, and none of it mattered. There was still too much they didn't know. Hardison's intel had been right, there was almost nothing here beyond a shallow ditch running parallel to the road, about 200 meters to the west. It wasn't much, but it would've provided enough cover for a sniper, had Retzing not opted to have Larson riding shotgun instead.

Smart move, that. It was much more maneuverable.

There was no way Retzing could make a kill box in so open an area, but it was so wide open that there was no controlling any impending action, either. They'd have to play this straight.

The knowledge didn't keep Eliot from scanning, looking for _anything_ they could turn to their advantage as he slowed the van down.

"Parker?" Nate reached back for the duffel bag she'd been holding in her lap, and for once, she didn't complain when the money left her hands. As they began to cross, Nate shoved it out the window.

"Okay, Retzing," Nate said. "We've made the drop."

One mile later, Eliot stopped the van.

\---

Eliot and Nate had adjusted the rearview mirrors to watch the bag. Alec craned his neck, looking over Eliot's shoulder to see, but couldn't be sure what he was looking at was a duffel bag full of money or road kill.

They waited for what felt like a very long time. There wasn't enough air in the van, even with the windows open, but nobody complained. Nobody said anything at all.

Then he saw it. A silver sedan, floating in the water mirage at the horizon before coming to land on the road and slowing down. Parker smacked him on the arm, not realizing that he'd seen, and up front, Nate began muttering to himself.

"There they are… slowing down, okay. I think that's Larson getting out."

Alec could just make him out, stepping from the passenger side of the car and crouching in the road, prodding the bag with the end of his rifle before opening it. A moment later, he raised the rifle, some sort of signal, and Sophie was climbing out, stepping onto the road.

It took a few moments of watching to realize that she wasn't walking freely, and it wasn't until Nate began to shake his head that Alec realized something was wrong. _More_ wrong.

"She's moving slow."

Eliot was watching as well. "Think she's being cautious?"

"I don't. She's-" Nate's hand was on the handle, he was about to open the door when Eliot slammed the locks down. Nate spun to glare at him.

"No. We don't move. You least of all."

"Retzing only said that the _van_ couldn't move."

"You think that'll stop him from telling Larson to shoot? No. I don't like it either, but, we're here until they're gone. And you're the last target, Nate. They've fucked with every one of us, you're the only one left."

Nate frowned, considering, and might've acquiesced had Sophie not stumbled in the road behind them in that same moment. "You don't call the shots, Eliot." Unlocking his door, he jumped out, shoving his earbud in as he ran.

" _Fuck_ ," Eliot tried grabbing after him, but Nate had already cleared the back of the van by the time he'd gotten his seatbelt undone. " _Damn_ it!"

"It's okay," Alec realized. In the rearview, he could see Nate running towards Sophie, but he could also see that the car was starting to pull away. There was no doubt that Retzing and Larson, at least, had had the foresight to bring binoculars. They wouldn't have missed it. "They're leaving."

It took Eliot a moment to be convinced, but he began to edge the car forward.

"You might want to give the two of them some space," Alec muttered, even as he found himself unable to tear his eyes from Nate and Sophie's progress.

Eliot smirked, then hit the breaks again.

There was a click on the line, someone tapping back into the comms. It wasn't Nate.

"This is what you get. Watching your family die, and being powerless to prevent it."

And the first shots rang out.

\---

"What the _hell_?" Hardison shouted as they felt the second tire burst and the van listed even more towards the left.

Eliot swung his head left. The second shot had taken out the driver's side front tire as well. There was no way it had come from the car just disappearing over the horizon, it had to be coming from the ditch.

 _Fuck_ , he couldn't see anything. Enough dust had been kicked up by the cars that it was useless as an indicator.

"Sophie's down!" Parker shouted, launching herself forward into Nate's seat.

"Hit, or hitting the ground?"

"Can't tell, Nate-"

From this angle, watching in the rearview inside the van, they were at the worst possible angle to watch what was actually happening. Nate, fucking idiot that he was, wasn't ducking. He was running towards Sophie.

"He's just going to draw more fire," Eliot muttered, twisting the wheel. They wouldn't get far like this, but they could close the distance, maybe block the sniper's shot if he could figure out where in the ditch he was hiding.

Parker was leaning close, trying to look out his window. "Who's shooting?"

"Larson's not the only one on the payroll," Eliot ground out, not wanting to get into trajectories and the impossibility of the second shot. "Shooter's in the ditch. _Parker_. In the back. _Both_ of you. Stay low."

He realized, as he managed to pull the van around, the wheel rims grinding in the gravel, that he was only opening up the right side of the van as a target. Odds were, those tires would be shot out in a moment as well.

He drove as fast as he could, fighting the pull of the van, keeping it on the road as best he could. More shots were coming, but apparently the sniper wasn't great at hitting moving targets. It was the closest thing they had to an advantage right now. Up ahead, Nate was realizing the same, getting to his feet again at breaking into a run.

At least he hadn't been shot.

Yet.

It took forever to catch up with him, and it was a risk coming to a stop to pull him into the back. Eliot pretended not to hear Hardison mumbling to himself, sweet talking the van.

"I know you're just a rental, baby, but I know your model, your make. You come from a very strong line, you can _do_ this."

Maybe it was working. Their stop had cost them the front side passenger tire, not to mention the glass shattering into the front seat as the bullet lodged into the roof just above Eliot's head. Nate was trying to climb up in front anyway, and if it weren't for Parker grabbing him and yanking him backwards, he probably would've made it.

"Go," was all he said. Over and over again as he peered out the windshield.

Sophie was only twenty or thirty meters out when the final tire blew, but she was clambering up to a low, awkward crouch, trying to rush to meet them. It was only when she was upright that they could see why she'd stumbled. Her ankles were tied together, and so were her wrists.

Nate was jumping out the back of the van before Eliot had stopped it completely, but he didn't bother trying to stop him this time. Another shot skidded across the road, just in front of the van, gouging the gravel, creating a line that pointed back exactly to where the sniper was hiding.

\---

As soon as Nate got Sophie in the back, Alec was there with the knife Parker had tossed him, cutting her free.

"Are you okay?" Nate was stuck on repeat, carefully taking her hands, touching her feet as he looked, searching for injuries. Sophie was nodding, but her eyes were wide and frightened, and she didn't say much of anything at all, just hugged Nate back fiercely.

It got a little voyeuristic after about ten seconds, though Parker seemed not to mind, and there was still the matter of the sniper, still shooting at them.

It wasn't until he turned to ask Eliot what he thought they should do next, that he noticed that Eliot was gone.

\---

Eliot _ran_ , dodging from right to left to further right then straight on again, as randomly and as fast as he could. He'd done this before, once in Bosnia, then Iraq, but both times there'd been more cover, somewhere to stop, think, catch his breath.

He'd breathe when he was done. Another bullet sprayed the gravel less than a foot to his right, it took every ounce of training he had to not swerve away from it. The sniper would be expecting it, and indeed, was- the next shot went wide, off to the left, safely ahead of him.

The sniper was learning, though, the shots were missing in on a narrower and narrower margin each time, but he was gaining distance.

At this point, he could take a shot and still make it down there to strangle the guy with his bare hands before the shock set in. If he had to.

He was pretty sure the bullet that tore through his arm was just taking him up on his dare, but he was coming up on the cut bank of the ditch.

In just a few more steps, he'd be throwing himself over it.

\---

"Fucking hell. _Eliot!_ " Alec shouted, tapping at his comms again, but he still wasn't getting a response. Eliot as he sprinted, and probably wouldn't be in a talking mood anyway. "He's gonna get himself killed," he pointed as Parker crawled up into the front to look. The sniper was still shooting, so far, it looked like he was still missing, but Eliot's body jerked, there, right then, just a little. Maybe he was dodging bullets.

Maybe he wasn't.

 _Fuck_.

"What d'we do? _Nate_ , man, what-"

"We _don't_ go out there after him," Nate said, grabbing his arm and pulling it away from the door handle. Alec hadn't even realized he'd placed it there, but now that he had, he could feel the glass shards grinding their way into his hand.

He tore his eyes away in time to see Eliot diving over the edge, falling out of sight.

And then?

One final crack of the rifle. Then nothing.

Alec counted to thirty before leaning towards Nate. He didn't turn to look. He couldn't tear his eyes away from where Eliot had gone over. " _Now_ what do we do?"

Parker snorted in frustration, shoving up next to him to get a better look.

"Hardison," Sophie called, rummaging around the supplies in back. "Didn't we have binoculars in here?"

"They were in one of the crates," Parker explained. "The ones we didn't need."

"Oh, _damn_. Why did you…" opening the second box of medical supplies, her eyes narrowing in accusation. "You knew someone was going to get hurt."

"It was a distinct possibility, yes," Nate said, and climbed into the front seat.

Alec was the only one who saw the new worry spreading on Sophie's face, and he tried to smile reassuringly.

He was pretty sure he failed.

"What was that?" Parker was waving her hand, quieting them, but Alec he shook his head; Nate and Sophie did the same. There might've been something, but it could've been the wind. But whatever it was, it sounded like it was coming from the ditch,

It was enough, apparently, to goad Parker into action. She jumped out of the van.

"Hardison, come _on_ ," she shouted, already moving towards the ditch.

"What- no. Hang on." _Screw it. Sitting around here ain't doing you any good_. "Hold up," he said, clambering out after her. He walked as quickly as he could- realizing once he was out in the open that he was more or less a sitting duck- and kept his eyes and ears on the ditch ahead.

Parker seemed torn between running ahead and waiting for him, so she was cutting the difference. Fast steps interspersed with tense pauses, ready to listen, ready to dodge whatever came her way. Alec doubted his own abilities to do the same. But the alternative was to let her get even further ahead.

They'd made it halfway with no action, though he thought he could hear it now, the noise. It sounded like a small motor. The wind shifted again, and he could hear the whine again more clearly. Definitely a small engine, almost like a-

Like a chainsaw.

 _No. No, no way_.

He shouted Eliot's name, but there was no response.

They slowed as they neared the edge, Parker dropping into a crouch, Hardison unable to do more than stoop as he walked.

The first thing he saw was the spinning rear wheel of the motorcycle.

 _Not a chainsaw, then. Thank you._

Parker was closer to the ledge, but she was standing up, waving for him to follow as she began to pick her way down. It was only when he got closer to the edge that he could look down to see Eliot.

He was crouched over Dennis Retzing. Not doing anything, just staring. He raised his head, startled, when Parker called his name, and when he moved, Alec could see why.

One leg still stuck under the dirt bike, Retzing was sprawled, his face bloody. His neck was at a sharply awkward angle, and he wasn't moving.

\---

He hadn't meant to kill him. He'd just wanted him to _stop_.

The fight had been rougher than Eliot would've expected, given what he remembered of Retzing, but it had been two years. Retzing had been working out, more muscle than dough now, and though he hadn't been skilled, he'd been determined.

Eliot hadn't been ready for the bike when he'd come crashing down into the ditch, and after rolling awkwardly to avoid crashing into the motorbike, he'd been off balance. Retzing'd had the advantage, getting in a good shot to Eliot's jaw with the but of the rifle, but he'd given it up almost right away. Instead of hitting him again, he'd swung the rifle around, trying to aim in too small a space.

He'd gotten a few good punches in while they wrestled for the rifle, though it did go off, once, before Eliot managed to grab it and toss it out of the ditch. As they'd grappled, Eliot realized that Retzing had an ankle holster, and he'd been trying to get at it when Retzing's boot connected with Eliot's injured arm.

Eliot recovered quickly, but by then Retzing had thrown himself at the bike, kick starting it hard.

His plan had been obvious enough. Wheels, a gun, and sitting ducks out on the road.

He'd launched himself after Retzing, but the bike had been moving by the time Eliot caught up to him, heading towards the gradual rise a few yards north, on the other side of the cut bank.

It had been a hell of a catch. He'd gotten him around the shoulder, pulling back with enough force to bring him down off the bike, but the bike had come with him, spinning out and rearing up from underneath, the throttle gunning in Retzing's grip as the handlebar caught him in the temple, hard enough to force his neck back sharply.

If death wasn't instantaneous, it had been close. Eliot was still trying to sort it all out in his head.

But now Hardison and Parker were here, and any minute now, he'd have to explain it.

\---

Eliot was staring up at them like he didn't know what to make of the two of them standing here, so Alec did the first thing that came to mind. He tapped his earpiece and called for Nate.

"Hey, we got him. Eliot's…ah, he's-" It was then that he noticed all the blood on his arm. "He's still standing. Retzing, though. Don't look like he made it."

"What happened?"

"Not sure yet. There's a motorcycle down here, and." He looked at Eliot, who was reaching over to shut off the bike and waving his hands back towards the van. "Uh. Right. We're comin' to you."

"Tara's only about a minute out. You guys just get back here, _now_."

"Hey guys," he called, jutting his thumb over his shoulder. "Nate wants us back at the van. Tara's on route."

The two of them climbed up out of the ditch, Eliot moving fast, clearly not wanting to talk about it, or maybe just in a rush to find out what Nate had to say, there was no way of knowing. Alec didn't want to think too hard on the look in his eye when he'd passed.

Parker fell into step with him easily enough, frowning after Eliot. Up on the road, Tara's car was approaching the bullet-ridden van.

\---

"Eliot? You alright?"

"I'm fine. Sophie?"

Nate nodded towards the back of the van, and when Eliot stepped around, he found Sophie sitting in the open back door, head down, hands over her ears. After a moment, she raised her head.

"Are you okay?" It was a stupid question. He could see the rope marks on her ankles and wrists.

"Asks the man who just got shot," she said wryly, smiling tiredly. "This isn't winding up to be one of our more shining exploits, is it? But yes. I'm fine, these," she held out her hands, "are minor, and the worst extent of it. How badly are you hurt? It seems we've got more bandages than-"

It was completely insane, but Eliot found himself grinning, grabbing her in a hug before she could finish.

"I'm so damned glad to see you, Soph. You don't even know."

Nate and Tara came around the side of the van, Nate looking more like himself than he had in days, smirking when he found the two of them.

"Okay. We need all of you in Tara's car. The police are on their way. And the sheriff's department. You need to be _gone_ before they get here."

\---

"You got here fast," Sophie was saying, up front as Tara sped south. Hardison found himself leaning in against Parker- he didn't have far to go, crammed as they were in the back seat like this-to hear them over the open window.

" _Fast_ fast," Parker agreed. On the other side of her, Eliot didn't even seem to be listening. He was leaning towards the window, trying to keep the blood off the back of the seat. His shirt was stained all the way down to the elbow, and from the look on his face, it hurt like a bitch. Alec tried hard not to think about it, but just because nobody was talking about it didn't mean it was there.

"Nate wanted me to meet up with you back in town, after you'd gotten out, said he had something for me to do," Tara was telling Sophie, and it probably had something to do with the files Alec had sent earlier. "Only, I gotta say, he was kind of a mess when he called. So I tracked Nate's phone and followed you out here, in case he decided to do something stupid. I was already pulling off the interstate when he called."

"So what're we doing, anyhow?" Alec wasn't sure, but he thought he heard sirens in the distance. "You and Nate got some big plan?"

"Oh yeah," Tara rolled her eyes, smirking. "There's a rest area a few miles up the road. You and Sophie can get cleaned up, and then, well. We wait."

\---

They had the rest stop to themselves, which at least spared them the effort of sneaking in without being noticed by a carload of tourists. Parker and Tara had gone ahead with Sophie to help her get cleaned up, and Eliot was pondering the tendencies of women to travel to the bathroom in packs when he noticed Hardison staring at him again.

 _Here it comes_.

During the drive, he'd tried to rehearse. He was even pretty sure that it would come out right, but now, here, standing in the parking lot? He really wasn't sure how he was going to convince Hardison that he hadn't _meant_ to kill Retzing. It had been an accident. There hadn't been anything he could do about it.

"What?"

Hardison had his computer bag over his shoulder and was tossing the first aid kit from hand to hand, nervously, barely looking in his direction. It might've been the adrenaline wearing off.

"Ah. Your arm. Don't know if it's as bad as it looks, but. It looks awkward. I mean. Painful, yeah, but. Anyway, you want some help with that?"

Eliot frowned. He'd been expecting a fight.

Maybe that would come later.

"I've dealt with worse," he said, reaching out for the kit and almost missing the concerned look on Hardison's face. He changed his mind. "But yeah. One handed is a bitch."

Inside, Eliot pulled the shirt over his head and threw it in the sink. Nothing about it was salvageable, but it was what he had. If he cut the sleeves off, it would be enough until they got back to the hotel. In the mirror as he turned on the water, he caught Hardison staring at his arm. He looked ill.

"Look, man, you don't have to-"

"It's cool," Hardison said, much too quickly as he shook himself into action, setting out bandages and disinfectant. "Just. Not used to guns. Bullets. You know how it is."

As he unscrewed the cap, Hardison's hands suddenly began to shake, the contents splashing out over his fingers.

It wasn't a good sign. Eliot scanned him over, looking for signs of injury. For all he knew, the van wasn't bulletproof, maybe he'd caught one. "Hey. You all right?"

"Me?" Hardison wiped his hands on his jeans. "Yeah, man. I'm cool."

He was quiet, though, and that was the thing. By the time Eliot had finished splashing water up his arm and rinsing out the gash as best he could, Hardison had it back under control. Or seemed to, at least. When it came time to bandage Eliot's arm, he avoided looking anywhere else.

He was helping him, for now, but the fight was coming. Something in him wanted to twinge at the thought of it.

When Hardison opened his mouth, Eliot was ready for it. Instead, what he got was a full on Hardison breakdown.

"Don't fucking do that, okay? Running off like that toward the guy with the gun. You know how it plays out in the movies? It ain't like that. The guy that tries to be the hero just gets shot."

"No kidding," Eliot smirked, not knowing what else to do, and shifted his arm as Hardison did another pass with the bandage. When he fastened it into place, it was tighter than it probably needed to be, but he could redo it later.

If he was being honest with himself, a few stitches wouldn't hurt, but they could wait.

"I'm serious," Hardison said, after a minute. He still hadn't let go of his arm, and when Eliot glanced up, he found him he was staring off at the middle of the floor. His grip was getting tighter, and his breath was coming _way_ to fast.

"Hey, man," he pulled his arm away, and Hardison let go, but the freaked expression didn't leave. He was panicking, and his hand still hung in space between them, awkward. "What's up?"

He was trying to pull it together, and that's what really did it. The fact that Hardison _had_ to. All because of this fucked up day. Week. _Month_. The adrenaline was wearing off and his brain was kicking in and he was just figuring out how fucked up life could get.

Eliot grabbed his forearm, shook him a bit.

Part of this was probably his fault, anyhow.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't plan for it to go down that way." And he hadn't. He really hadn't, but the alternative had been worse. He wasn't sure that Hardison was listening, but the sooner they cleared it up, the better. "Choice was either to let him head back after you guys, or to stop him. So I stopped him."

Hardison was nodding, but his eyes seemed more determined than ever to avoid Eliot's and his voice was shaking. "I know." He nodded to himself. "Nate's got a plan. He'll take care of it. You got out clean."

That wasn't the point, not at all, and there went that weird winching sensation in his chest again.

Hardison wasn't supposed to get like this. He was supposed to bitch and moan and make jokes, not be on the verge of tears in some rest-stop bathroom. Not over the possibility of Eliot getting caught.

Then again, Eliot wasn't supposed to give a damn, either. But here he was, pulling on Hardison's arm, stepping close. Actually wrapping his good arm around him.

It was just supposed to be for a second. For morale.

Then Hardison hugged him back. One arm, then the other. His shirt wasn't anything special, just another T with obnoxious designs splattered all over the front. But Eliot could feel the plastic of the paint against his chest, sticking slightly, and beyond that, Hardison's heart trying to bash its way through his ribcage.

"Hey. It's cool," he tried. "Nate'll think of something." Because he would. Because that was the team's job, now, cleaning up the dead bodies. _His_ dead bodies. "And we got Sophie back. That's the important thing, okay?"

"And you got shot. Because that's what you do." Hardison muttered, finally pulling away just enough to look Eliot squarely in the face. But he wasn't moving far.

 _Either are you_.

And this was turning into something else entirely. Right?

Hardison's hand was still on his bare side. It was suddenly too damned intimate.

But fuck it. Today had already gone balls up. He swallowed. And realized he had absolutely no idea what the fuck he was going to say, no idea _how_ , or even what he'd mean if he tried.

But Hardison was making an attempt.

"Hey, ah. Eliot? I don't. Fuck. I don't know. Don't hit me, but." He was babbling, but Eliot wasn't sure he'd be able to do any better. But he knew what this _was_ , now, and that was everything. All he'd have to do was take half a step forward, hold on just a bit tighter. It would be so easy. "Am I reading this right? I mean, you're. We're. And it's-"

He had to close his eyes to think about it, just for a second. He'd already fucked up once today, massively, and if he did it again-

"Eliot?"

Hardison was stretched to the edge, he was about to snap. And Eliot's dithering wasn't helping _either_ of them.

He leaned forward and up, just enough that Hardison could take the hint or back out if he wanted to, but there was no resistance, here, just Hardison's hands on his back again and his shirt on Eliot's skin and a flash of something coming back online in his eyes.

\---

 _Holy shit holy shit holyshit_.

Eliot was kissing him. Eliot was letting him kiss _back_ , and stubble felt a lot _more_ , up close like this. And right, he didn't want to get carried away here- more than he already was, 'cause this was _insane_ \- but hell. He'd never first-kissed anyone like this, open-mouthed and content and lazy, easy like they knew where this was going, like they weren't just stumbling into it in the middle of a rest stop bathroom.

Like any minute some trucker wouldn't just wander in here, looking at them and freaking out because of the bloody shirt in the sink- and yeah, he should really see if he had a spare in the computer bag, because Eliot's was toast and Tara was good, but she probably didn't carry men's shirts around in her suitcase- but Eliot's skin was bare under his hands, still warmer than the rest of the room- no surprise there, the way he ran hot, hell, Alec could feel his arms burning through the back of his shirt and it was totally the wrong thing to be getting hung up on because-

 _Holyshitholyshit_.

This was Eliot Spencer, here, up against him, pushing back just a little, but not fighting, so damned insistent. His hair was brushing over the back of Alec's hand, just a bit and he chased it up underneath to where it was damp-

-and that, _there_ , that was Eliot's tongue, just barely brushing against his own, nice as you please, smiling right up against his mouth, before kissing small again, once, before easing just out of reach.

Eliot was rolling his jaw just a bit, stretching it out. The bruise was just starting to really set in, and reality was following, not far behind.

But hell, they'd just made out in a rest stop bathroom. Alec could take some liberties. He could out and brush his fingers against it if he wanted to.

Eliot rolled his eyes when he noticed the concern, but he leaned in against Alec's hand, just a bit. "Don't worry about it," Eliot said, but he wasn't moving. "I'm fine."

"I wasn't," Alec realized as he said it that it was actually true. "Just. Yeah." And he wasn't an idiot. He knew that in about three seconds all this was either going to get unbearably awkward, or come crashing down entirely.

So he smirked. "We just did that. Which is awesome." His own voice echoed off the tiles. He hadn't noticed it before. "But the ladies are gonna come looking soon, and…"

"Relax. They'll probably spend an hour on Sophie's hair."

Eliot stepped back, then, but if he kept looking at him like that, they were going to end up rolling around on the bathroom floor.

Right over by the urinals.


	15. Chapter 15

_Now's really not the time to think about it_.

They were already in the car, heading to meet up with Nate again, before reality starting trying to set in.

While Tara drove, Sophie was filling them in on her ordeal. Eliot was only half-listening. The story was so typical, so perfectly matching what he'd been expecting that it was hard not to focus instead on Hardison.

Hardison, who was sitting on the other side of Parker, watching Eliot out of the corner of his eye and fighting to maintain a straight face.

Hardison, who'd made the first move and then followed his lead. Who he'd _kissed_ , and who'd started kissing back confidently once he'd realized it was happening. Who could span Eliot's throat with one hand, _easy_.

Right now, Hardison looked like he was wavering between being unbearably smug and completely thrown. Like he wasn't so much wondering if it was going to happen again, and more about _when_.

 _Not. The. Time._

"…ordered Chinese food," Sophie was saying. "I had to eat with a plastic fork, since the cuffs…"

Eliot caught himself again, on the verge of grinning. This was getting childish. Yeah, they'd talk about it at some point- preferably only after he'd gotten his head around it- but really? Sophie had just been retrieved, and even though Nate had just gotten done clearing up Eliot's billionth mistake, they really were in a hell of a lot of trouble, here.

 _Killing's starting to roll off too easily, man. Again. You might want to get a handle on it._

Hardison had freaked out, no doubt about it, but he'd seemed more concerned about Eliot getting caught than Retzing going down. _That_ was what had done it, that was all it had taken.

It had been perfect. It had also been a little convenient.

\---

 _  
He'd rarely worked with Miranda, less, towards the end. Something had gone down between her and Chapman, but it was impossible to tell what, exactly. Maybe they'd fallen into bed together, or maybe they'd fallen out. Either way, it wasn't any of his business._

 _What was his business, though, was getting the hell out of Sarajevo. The cease-fire had just been announced, but with all the NATO forces still roaming the area, the trunk full of Bosnian manuscripts they'd…recovered… from the wrecked library was going to be a problem._

 _Word on the street was that the borders would be opened in another week. They didn't have that long._

 _There'd been planning. A night route. And now there was a guard post that had been paid off better by somebody else, and there were bullets, but not enough of them in their own guns._

 _There were three days in a burned out hotel room, and only one bed. Miranda, she'd hit the wall, figuratively at first, then literally, as they caught their breath enough to hear the rumors and noise from outside. Both of them were fried, with no lines of communication, no idea if they'd make it to the drop, and too much suspicion that they'd been burned. The bullet she had to dig out of Eliot's leg wasn't helping matters, either._

 _Her panic was nearly enough to set off a thousand powder kegs. It was to distract her. They wound up fucking instead. Made promises in the pre-dawn hours that neither intended to keep, but Miranda insisted, afterwards, on keeping up the illusion. She probably would have kept it up until they reached Podgorica._

 _They kissed on the side of the road four minutes before the locals- a bunch of kids Herzog had paid off- spotted them and opened fire._

 _Eliot was the only one who actually made it to Montenegro. He made the handoff, took the payout. Lied to himself and promised he'd forward Miranda's cut to her family, but he had no idea who they were. It was easier, eventually, just to drop it. Just business, anyway, and he had to get on to Belfast._

\---

Hardison's glances weren't like Miranda's. He was _nothing_ like her, and _that_ Eliot was sixteen years ago, now.

 _That_ Eliot wouldn't be sitting crammed in a backseat trying not to grin like an idiot just because he'd _kissed_ somebody. He wouldn't be worrying excitedly about anyone else noticing him, either.

But Parker had barely glanced at them when they'd stepped out of the bathroom; she'd merely hooked a thumb over her shoulder and told them they were taking off. Joining them back at the car, Tara had stared at Eliot's arm as they'd all climbed in. Sophie, however, had barely even registered the bandage, not with the way her gaze kept bouncing between him and Hardison.

But she hadn't said anything, yet. And probably wouldn't. He was merely misreading the glances she kept shooting into the backseat; they were nothing more than her attempt to include everyone in the conversation.

"… so Dennis and Donovan took turns keeping an eye on me, but by about one in the morning I was so bored I fell asleep despite myself…"

Hardison was staring out the window now. The corners of his mouth wouldn't stop twitching towards a grin. And now Parker was starting to notice Eliot's line of sight, her eyes narrowing, darting back and forth between them. Any second now, she was going to say something, and there was no way of knowing _what_ that would be.

 _Great_.

Thankfully, Tara was pulling into the parking lot of a TGI Friday's or Applebee's or something else that Eliot forgot the moment they stepped inside. It was busy, and he was surprised to realize that it was only the lunch rush.

He'd watched a hostage exchange, gotten shot, watched a man die, and kissed Hardison, and hadn't even eaten lunch yet.

The location was a good choice on Nate's part. Packed and loud, it the sort of place where nobody expected anything out of the ordinary, so nobody ever saw anything out of the ordinary. Maybe it was something in the pre-aged not-quite-faux advertisements lining the walls, or the fact that the place considered chipotle dipping sauce a bold move- there was an entire spread on it in the menu, as if nobody had heard of it before- but nobody had looked twice at them as they'd filtered into the booth.

Nate hugged Sophie awkwardly, once he arrived. Once seated, though, his eyes lit immediately on the shirt- Hardison's- that Eliot was wearing, and he quirked a brow in Hardison's direction. He didn't have far to shift, not with them sitting next to each other like this.

The booth was crowded. That was all.

Hardison's knee pressed into his own underneath the table when Nate looked away to order iced tea. Eliot's first instinct was to complain, but it would only backfire, Nate or Sophie's attention would shift back to them. So he pressed back, briefly, and bit down on the inside of his lip to keep from smiling.

The urge passed, though, on its own once the food had arrived. Small talk had fallen by the wayside, and Parker was stabbing at the ice in her drink with her straw.

"So what happened with the cops?"

\---

Alec felt Eliot tense the moment Parker opened her mouth, and there, _yeah, that's it, sorry, so long_ , the high he'd been riding since the rest stop evaporated instantaneously.

 _Right_.

He wondered what Eliot was thinking- wondering what he _himself_ was thinking, making out with the guy less than an hour after killing a man. Accidentally.

And this, here, wasn't a date. This was business, and Nate was filling them in.

"I called 911, and two deputies came out with the police department and coroner. I told them that I'd been called out there by Retzing, who'd come to my church for the first time this weekend. See, he'd been in rough shape, and I'd given him my number in case he wanted to talk. This morning, he called and told me to meet him out there." Nate sipped his tea. "He seemed suicidal, not quite sane. Tried to get through to him, but he wound up pulling out a gun."

Eliot hadn't moved his leg away yet; Hardison could feel the muscles growing tighter, as if he was planning on bolting. Nate continued to fill in the conversation

"I didn't know if he was planning to use the gun on himself or on me, so I backed off. When he realized I was leaving, he began shooting, but he only hit the van's tires. I was hiding in the van when I heard him start his motorcycle, but then he went silent. I got out of the van and began to make my way back towards the ditch where he'd been, and found him dead. I said a prayer, turned off the bike, and called them in."

"Did they believe you?"

"I may have mentioned my services at the jail while we were making small talk, after that, they were very agreeable." Nate frowned a moment. "But that's not all I said."

Eliot had been coiled this whole time, listening to Nate, but Alec didn't become acutely nervous until Sophie did.

"Oh, Nate," she groaned. "What have you done?"

"I may have, you know, in roundabout ways, repeated what I could remember him saying. The guilt over knowing about a cover up, and a man named Miller."

She sighed wearily, and after a moment, shook her head reproachfully. "Leaving aside the distastefulness of using a man's death for our benefit, you won't be able prove a direct connection."

"Don't have to," Nate shrugged. "Not anymore. When they searched his body, they found the financials I shoved in his pocket. They're enough there to connect him to Miller through Larson. Figure they'll figure it out on their own."

"That's a little open-ended, man. Even for you," Eliot almost sounded apologetic. "You're black boxing it. They have some bit of information that ain't that solid, and you don't know that they're only going to use it the way you want."

"It's fine."

"They find Larson, depending on how deep they follow it, it could come back on us."

"That's a bit of a stretch," Sophie said, her eyes darting over to Alec as if she'd been expecting to hear the complaint from him, instead. "Investigations only rarely are tied up with a lovely little bow."

"She's right," Alec cut in, finally having a hook into the conversation. His wrenching motivation to ease Eliot's mind notwithstanding, Sophie had a point. "Most of the cases we handle, the authorities tie up every loose end because we deliberately leave them there, making sure every sign points to our mark."

"So?"

"Real life is chaotic, man. Evidence doesn't turn up, or gets mishandled, or just doesn't lead anywhere. And when a department's as screwed up as the Maricopa County Sheriff's Department, a few things not adding up after the fact won't surprise anyone."

"Especially when the best lead is dead," Eliot muttered.

 _There goes my smug sense of satisfaction. Already_ , Alec thought. Aloud, he said, "Eliot, dude. It was an accident. Right?"

"Yeah, but. If I'd wanted him dead, I wouldn't be pissed right now." Eliot spoke quietly enough that Sophie and Tara were leaning in to listen. He shredded the corner of his coaster. "As shitty as this is gonna sound, we've got a problem. He died before I could get any answers out of him."

"Like what?"

"How he knew where to find us."

\---

Nate sent Parker and Tara to check in with McSweeten, in case they were getting anywhere with the evidence Nate had planted.

In the meantime, Sophie had suggested that the rest of them return to their respective rooms, citing Alec's obvious discomfort and the suggestion that Eliot might want to get his arm seen to. Alec couldn't help noticing the way she leaned slightly towards Nate as she suggested it.

But it was the wink Sophie gave him over her shoulder as they parted ways in the hotel hallway that really threw him for a loop. He waited until they'd disappeared into the suite before turning to Eliot, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be thinking.

"You think she knows? _I_ think she knows." He frowned. "Shit. You think _Nate_ knows?"

Eliot rolled his eyes and waved irritably at the door that Alec still hadn't unlocked. "Either way, ain't like they can lecture us about screwin' up the team dynamics."

It might not have been so awkward if they'd stepped into the room after the sun went down, or after enough drinks to take the edge off, but the moment the door was closed behind them, Alec had no idea what he was supposed to be doing next. It didn't help that Eliot looked like he might have been thinking along the same lines.

"So now what?" He didn't have to check his watch to know that they had several hours before they were going to be needed anywhere.

"I'm gonna go check this," Eliot decided, shrugging to indicate his arm. "Maybe take a shower."

Alec nodded, wondering if this was a play for distance, but the fact that Eliot was grabbing the front of his shirt and stealing a kiss as he passed did, however, alleviate it. A bit.

He turned the television on and mindlessly booted up his computer. The route map to get to the drop location was still on the screen, and he tried, for a while, to guess where Larson would've headed, but he was coming up blank. Larson had probably ditched the car the first chance he got, anyway.

Chasing after him wasn't going to work, Nate had said as much at lunch. They needed to get ahead of him. A nice idea, but right now? Alec was out of ideas.

It ceased to matter a few moments later, when Eliot poked his head out of the bathroom, holding up a box of butterfly bandages. "You mind?"

"You don't need stitches?" He shoved at Eliot's arm, trying to get a better look under the fluorescent light.

"Not enough to actually wait around a hospital all afternoon."

Right there. That surge of frustration and worry. That was new. But Eliot's stubbornness wasn't.

"Whatever," he shrugged, fastening the first one where Eliot indicated, then the next. He really only needed three, but got five, and another large one on top to keep it clean.

"What about you?" Eliot asked, waving at Alec's torso. "Yours still holdin' up?"

The truth was, he'd been sweating and the tape had gotten tacky. It felt unpleasant, but he could handle it, and he told Eliot as much.

"That's really not the point."

Eliot hadn't bothered putting his shirt back on, and as he pulled Alec's over his head, Alec decided that he could roll with this. He pulled the bandage off as Eliot ran more water, grabbed a fresh washcloth and got to work cleaning off the tape.

Part of him really wanted to point out that it would be easier to take care of it in the shower.

Part of him ran screaming.

So it was mostly a relief when Eliot got down to business, cleaning and drying the area completely before taking out a fresh bandage. "Another few days and you won't even need this. You set up an appointment to get the stitches out?"

"Three days," Alec answered, wondering about the shift in Eliot's tone, and why he was being so careful to keep his eyes on task as he taped off the bandage. And why he didn't look up when he was done.

Something had shifted. Whatever the moment had been, it had passed, and it was following Eliot out of the bathroom.

\---

The stitches were nothing. The wound was healing up fine, but Eliot hadn't seen it since it had happened, and it was throwing him more than he wanted to admit.

But that wasn't what he was thinking about, regardless of what Hardison might be thinking right now. He had to be thinking _something_ , after all, or he wouldn't be hiding out in the bathroom, giving Eliot space. It wasn't like he needed it, not really.

At least it meant that Hardison wasn't right here, distracting him, making him think about things like if he was supposed to start calling him by his first name, now, or what this all meant, or why they'd kissed or if this was real.

Eliot could prioritize, though. Right now, if he was being honest with himself, Alec - _'cause yeah, might want to try to get used to that_ \- wasn't number one with a bullet.

 _Bad choice of words._

 _Stop it._

Alec finally came out of the bathroom, trying to seem unconcerned as he leaned against the dresser and fixed him with a quizzical gaze.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?" And _no_ , if they were going to do this thing, they weren't going to be _those_ people. But it wasn't worth mentioning, not at the moment.

"Just trying to figure out what comes next." Hardison's eyes went wide, and at least Eliot didn't have to wonder what he'd been thinking about while hiding out in the bathroom anymore. He shook his head and clarified. "I mean Larson. Between the audio recording and the testimonies, and the evidence Parker gave McSweeten, Arlington's going down and Miller's going with him. But Larson made it out of there with ten grand."

"Yeah, but. It's not _that_ much cash."

"That ain't the point. He's still out there."

Hardison shrugged, sat down on his bed and gestured at his computer. "Yeah, and Retzing's not around to pay him off anymore. So. I mean, yeah, I'm already looking for the guy." His tone suddenly shifted, became accusatory as he rounded on Eliot. "You're trying to figure out what you're going to do with him when we find him."

"I'm not planning _anything_."

It wasn't a total lie, though it would've been nice, because yeah. Those priorities he was so good at setting out? They were starting to get a little bit blurry, running into each other more than he would've liked. He hadn't meant for Retzing to get killed, and he wasn't planning on killing Larson, either, but…

It wasn’t hard to imagine how little of this shit Hardison was going to put up with.

"Okay." Hardison eventually said. "Cool. So we'll figure something out. Truth be told, if-"

"What?"

"Nothing, I just." He grimaced. "That right there? Was me about to say something really stupid."

"Tell me anyway."

"I was just going to say. If Larson had an accident? It wouldn't bother me so much. I just mean. The guy's comin' after us. He's pulled some shit. I want him gone. Now, it don't mean I want him _killed_ , but. I'm just saying, if it happens, I just hope that it's not 'cause things get so fucked up on our end that you have to-" Hardison cut himself off apologetically. "Again. Totally not coming out right."

Eliot swallowed, still lost. In his experience, feeling insulted or feeling relieved were mutually exclusive. He had no basis, no idea how to proceed. He could deck Hardison for pissing him off again, or hug him for trying not to, but the phone rang, and he didn't have the chance to do either.

\---

"Sorry for the interruption," Tara teased, once they'd all gotten on comms. "But we're here. She told McSweeten her flight out of town was delayed for a few days because of bad weather in Milwaukee, and it turns out McSweeten's got family there. He just took a call, we've got a moment, but Parker's frozen. What do I do?"

"Parker, are you there?" Alec couldn't tell if he was imagining how winded Sophie sounded.

"Yes," Parker said, tersely. It wasn't hard to imagine her gritting her teeth.

"This is good," Sophie assured her. "If he thinks you're lying about the flight, he'll be wondering about why you're here now. Unfortunately, when he asks you to dinner, you're going to have to say yes."

"When he asks me to _what_?"

Alec listened as Sophie and Tara ran Parker through it, but a moment later, they could hear McSweeten coming back. He had news.

"That lead you gave me was great," he said. "But it looks like Miller's clear, on the evidence front. There was amended paperwork filed a few weeks after the shiv was initially logged, where he explains that he'd screwed up the evidence handling when he was logging it back in after they'd run the prints. Since they'd already gotten an ID off them, it didn't matter in the long run."

"But he logged it in again after the stabbing last week, too," Parker insisted.

"While executing his normal duties," Arlington insisted. "Just a coincidence."

"So much for my conspiracy angle," Parker moaned. It was a little over the top, but Alec kind of felt like joining in.

"Maybe not," McSweeten said, his tone dropping. He'd just stepped closer, enough that his quiet murmur was easily picked up by the mic in Parker's phone. "It's too early to tell yet, but this morning, we found a lead that might blast this entire case wide open."

"Really?"

"I can't tell you about it," McSweeten said. Even Alec, from here, could hear him bullshitting. "Not officially, since you're not on the case. You know. But I'd be more than happy to fill you in. Maybe over dinner tonight?"

\---

"This doesn't change anything," Eliot insisted once they'd all gathered in the suite. "Best way to cover up evidence tampering is to file paperwork _saying_ it's been tampered with."

"But _why_?" Sophie turned to Nate. "Why wait so long to amend the paperwork?"

"Something spooked him after the shiv was checked for prints, but not before. Why?"

"Same reason anyone tampers with evidence. He was covering his tracks, or covering someone else's."

"Who's? Arlington's?"

"Doesn't make sense. Santiago's prints being on that shiv was the best evidence against her. He wouldn't want those wiped out."

"What if there was something else? Other prints, maybe?"

Parker perked up and raised her hand, which Nate ignored. "Sure, but why wouldn't they have been identified when Santiago's were?"

"It had a _taped handle_ , people," Parker was irritated, and sounded very disappointed in each and every one of them. "What did I _tell_ you about taped handles?"

Nate snapped his fingers, grinning at Parker. "Right. So. They ran the prints, found Santiago's, and stopped there. The shiv logged back into evidence. A few weeks later, he amends his paperwork, admits that while bagging it again, he'd accidentally smeared the prints. Nobody worries about it, because they've already got the information off of it, and by this point Santiago's already been convicted."

"So, _again_ ," Eliot asked, "why?"

Nate turned to Hardison. "When did Santiago's first request for an appeal go through?"

"Three weeks _after_ Miller amended the evidence paperwork," Hardison confirmed, his face falling. "The appeal wouldn't have been on his radar yet."

"Not on _his_ , but on someone else's." Nate sat down, holding up three fingers. "Arlington knew that the prints were the nail in the coffin, he wouldn't tamper with it. And Retzing and Larson weren't even in town yet." Nate sighed. "We're missing someone."

Sophie waited a moment before asking. "So what now?"

"What we should've done the moment we got here. We talk to Santiago."

\---

"No, Parker. We're holding you in reserve on this one," Nate explained. He probably hadn't forgotten her suggestion that she work the jail from the inside. "Tara's already in place."

"At least I would've been on comms."

"Well, Tara doesn't she doesn't have the proper appreciation for Nate being in her head," Sophie smirked, checking her phone for the third time in as many minutes. "She'll be fine."

Eliot rubbed his eyes, contemplating running back to the room for his glasses. Hardison had print out everything they had on the case, and they still had a lot to go through. Evidence logs, reports, court documents, coroner's reports, staff and inmate rosters and rotation schedules. A stack of booking sheets several inches high, and financials for everyone who was on either side of the bars.

Apart from finding that Miller had spent a long time working security for the women's chain gang detail out in Tent City before being transferred inside, they were coming up empty handed.

Worse, though, was the fact that they'd already been over this stuff before. If there were something in there, they would've seen it by now. Last night, they'd worked on it until their eyes had been crossing, gotten up, and had started all over again this morning.

Hopefully, Tara was having better luck with Santiago.

As if waiting for the cue, Sophie's phone buzzed, and she put it on speaker.

"I'm sitting in the jail's parking lot," Tara said. "Just went met with Santiago and her lawyer, to drop the hint about how the FBI's investigation into Arlington might set things up nicely for another appeal of Santiago's case. Somebody was coming in, though, as I was coming out. Sally Branson."

"Her old cellmate?" Hardison checked the visitation logs. "She's there all the time. They were friends."

"Yeah, but you'll never believe who kissed her before dropping her off."

Sophie pulled her phone from her ear to look at the picture Tara had sent, startled by what she found.

"What is it?"

Sophie held the phone out so they could all see. The picture was of a car. Silver, with four doors. And sitting in the driver's seat was Larson.

\---

"Hardison? What do we have on Branson?"

Branson's file was thin, still way down in the pile, and it took a few moments for him to dig it out. "Bad checks. Eighteen months. I've got her booking info and her phone-"

"What is it?"

Hardison warily considered the stacks of files they hadn't gotten to yet, before turning to his computer instead. "She called the same number almost every week."

Parker was flipping through the visitor's log. "Larson visited her every week the entire time she was in there, even before Santiago got caught in the riot and wound up on the other side of the bars."

Nate had thrown up his hands, glaring at Hardison. "How did we miss this?"

"We were looking for _Donovan_ , not Larson," Eliot guessed, smirking at how quickly Hardison's eyes darted back down to his screen with a grin that he hadn't been quick enough in hiding. It more than made up for Nate's weighty consideration of the two of them, but after a moment, he'd moved on.

"Okay, so Branson and Larson are connected. Larson gets a job from Retzing. What was that job?"

Eliot frowned. So far, this was all theoretical. "He was comin' after us," he guessed.

Nate was nodding, flapping his hand to prompt them, probably already knowing the answer himself. "And what's the best way to get at us?"

Eliot wanted to punch something, finally catching on. "Drawing us out." Infuriatingly enough, though, he still couldn't see the connection. "Walk us through it."

Nate glanced at the file. "About a month after Henry Retzing dies, Dennis hears about it, and he's probably been fantasizing about taking us down for months, right? He's in prison, word gets around, someone knows someone who knows someone, and he's able to strike a deal with Larson. To do what?"

"To create the perfect trap," Sophie said, and Nate snapped his fingers, pointing at her as she thumbed distractedly through another file. "Okay. Retzing contacts Larson, whose girlfriend resides at the most awful jail in the country. She knows that Arlington's corrupt and that Santiago's going against him."

 _That_ was a problem, and Eliot gestured for the files. Flipping through them, he stopped when he found matching requests from Santiago and Branson to become cellmates. It was good move if you wanted to keep an eye on someone, but they were still missing something. "I don't know," he said, looking around the room. "Stuck in _that_ place? Branson's more likely to side with Santiago, isn't she?"

"Yes," Nate agreed. "Unless she wanted to create a martyr."

Hardison was nodding. "So, okay. Larson and her are talking, he mentions the deal he made with Retzing, and either he asks, or she suggests setting Santiago up."

For a few minutes, they all mulled it over. There were still a few things that didn't fit. The people showing up in Boston could've been a recon team, or just a misdirection that Larson set up. But so far, there was nothing to explain why Miller had gotten involved.

"It's a theory," Nate eventually admitted. "But I'll bet you all that it's Branson's prints all over that shiv."

Eliot sighed. It was better than nothing, and it might lead somewhere. "So how do we play this?"

"Simple," Nate said, his eyes rising warily from Branson's file to Parker, undermining the confidence in his voice. "We steal the FBI."

Hardison groaned. " _Again?_ "


	16. Chapter 16

Eliot fixed the garnishes on the order for table seventeen and sent it off with the waiter, casting his eyes around the room before getting back to table 23's steaks. Though he had Parker on comms, and could see most of the dining area from back here, the bar was around the corner, out of sight.

He still had a few minutes before it all went down, and in between the head chef's barking orders, he reviewed his resources at hand. Everything in the dining area looked breakable, but there were plenty of knives back here, along with a mallet. There was a torch over by the dessert counter in case things needed to get theatrical.

All he needed now was Larson, and Parker was working on it.

"Our table's ready," she muttered, and he watched, chopping peppers as she and McSweeten followed the hostess from the bar to table eighteen. Within moments, Sally Branson, their waitress, was taking their drink orders.

"Hang on," he muttered, watching Branson carefully as she came back towards the kitchen. She didn't seem nervous, wasn't even glancing at the phone. "She doesn't recognize Parker," he muttered.

"Wish _he_ didn't," Parker grumbled under her breath before smiling widely at McSweeten.

"Well, we're on. Okay, don't look..." For the past fifteen minutes Sophie had been giving her pointers like _That was a joke, you're supposed to laugh… okay, maybe not quite so much- you're scaring him_ and _no, don't mention arson_. At least now they were finally changing gears, it had been beyond distracting. "Okay, ask him about the case."

"So," Parker said to McSweeten. "Have you been able to find anything more on the Santiago case?"

Branson smiled at Eliot as she filled the water glasses to take back to the table. She'd taken to him well enough since he'd been introduced as the new line cook, but the restaurant was busy, there was no time for talking. It was just as well. As far as Eliot was concerned, he'd do his job, the others could do theirs, and the less the restaurant staff knew, the better.

"We think we found the man bankrolling the operation," McSweeten replied, quickly enough, probably as eager to escape the hellish small-talk gridlock they'd been stuck in since he'd arrived. "We're looking at a guy named Dennis Retzing. The guys are going over it right now, but you know how FBI techs are. It'll be a while, but- and this is _really_ exciting- we think he was bankrolling at least two people."

His timing couldn't have been more perfect if Sophie'd been feeding him lines, though Branson was still trying, as she set the glasses down, to decide if she'd overheard correctly.

Her voice wavered nervously as she recited the specials and asked them if they had any questions. When they shook their heads, she didn't go far. She moved to the nearest empty table, straightening out place settings that didn't need straightening.

"She's listening," Eliot confirmed. The light in the dining room was just bright enough that he couldn't see outside; he didn't know if the others could see what was happening from their post in the ramp across the street.

"So what do you think is going to happen with the people Retzing paid off?"

"Well, we're closing in fast. If this goes down how I think it will, and I have a tendency to be right about these things," Eliot grit his teeth at McSweeten's boasting and sent the salmon fillets out for table seven. "Odds are, between the cash and the knife used in the Santiago case, one is going to feel the pressure, cut out the other, and run. If he hasn't already."

Branson was standing with her back to Parker and McSweeten, but Eliot could see that she'd gone deathly pale. She hurried back towards the kitchen, ducking into the office before the manager could see that she wasn't on the floor.

"She's getting' on the phone," Eliot informed the others before catching the chef's eye and nodding towards the bathroom. He stopped outside the office door once he rounded the corner and found her leaning over the desk, her back to him. It was almost too easy.

"Already tracing it," Hardison replied, and the call was patched into their earpieces.

"Hey, it's me," she said, when Larson answered. "I'm at work. We've got a problem. There are two FBI agents here, and they know about Retzing and the knife." Her tone changed, and it was clear that she was thinking about the other details she'd overheard. "They know _everything_."

"Good girl," Eliot heard Sophie mutter, followed by Hardison's questioning grunt. Nate fielded it.

"She's holding out on Larson. Needs him to sort it out, but she's starting to question him. Good."

Larson sounded dubious. "Who are they?"

"It's not like they flashed their badges. I didn't get their names. Hang on," she groused, reaching over to bring up the reservations screen on the computer. " _Oh_."

"What is it?"

"The table's reserved under the name _Ford_."

"Okay. So who's with him?"

"She's blonde, light hair. That one's Parker, right?"

"Right," Larson said, nervously amused. "Okay, Sally. They don't recognize you either, but even if they _did_ , they're just messing with us. They want us to panic. Right now, it's business as usual. I'll be there in a bit, and tonight, we'll be get out of here, leave them in our dust, and ride out free as anything. Until then, I need you to stay calm, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise me."

" _Okay_." Branson sighed, straightening her shoulders, and Eliot ducked back into the hallway. "Love you."

"Love you too."

Eliot was in the bathroom by the time she exited the office, his hand going to his earpiece as he stared unseeingly at the mirror. "We ready?"

  
\---

Alec finished up on the computer, straightened his tie. Nodding to Nate, he climbed out onto the street and dialed Parker's phone.

"Agent Hagen, she answered on the third ring. "It's my partner," she mouthed to McSweeten.

"Hi," Alec said. "I've got something you need to see. Where are you?"

"I'm at Kinkaid's, having dinner with Agent McSweeten, You remember him?"

"Business or pleasure?" He was approaching the restaurant, but hung back, across the street in case McSweeten looked out the window

"A little bit of both," she said, holding the phone away as she apologized ruefully to McSweeten for the interruption. "Can't it wait? We just got our food."

"Afraid not. I need to see you now. I'm actually just up the block; I'll be there in a few. Meet me in the bar, okay?"

"Oh, all right," Parker grumbled, hanging up. On comms, she could hear her apologizing again, and promising that it would only take a moment.

"Hey, that's fine, I know how it goes." McSweeten assured her, though it sounded like he was gnashing his teeth. "It'll be good to see Agent Thomas."

Alec gave it a minute before running across to the restaurant and going inside, heading straight for the bar. Parker, when she saw him, gave a wave, apologized again, and told McSweeten she'd be right back.

Neither of them looked in Branson's direction, she was serving the table next to Parker's, but he could feel her eyes burning into his back.

"So now what?" Parker asked, dropping out of character for the moment.

"I keep you distracted while we wait for Larson," Alec said, reaching into his pocket and unfolding a long document that he'd grabbed at random from the van, and they pretended to peruse it, leaning against the bar.

"I don't even know _what_ this is," Parker grumbled, flipping to the next page.

"Not the point," Alec glanced up to the mirror behind the bar. McSweeten was trying not to watch them, toying with his food, and starting to look dejected. "You're on a date, and you're not happy to be doing this. Look back and pout at McSweeten for a second, keep him on the line."

"Whoa," Sophie giggled, "I guess I'm not needed any more, now that Hardison the Love Doctor has entered the building."

He didn't have to be on comms to hear Eliot's snort coming all the way from the kitchen, and was trying to come up with a rejoinder that wouldn't A: bite him in the ass immediately, or B: out both of them in the middle of a con. But he didn't get the chance. Larson's car was pulling into the alley alongside the restaurant, and Nate needed everyone on their toes.

\---

Eliot kept his head down, one eye on the grill and one on the dining room.

Larson already had Parker and Hardison in his sights, but was ducking behind a corner, getting out of their line of sight and sitting down at an empty table just outside the kitchen instead. Branson immediately rushed over to talk to him.

"See? I _told_ you they weren't FBI agents," he bragged. "You don't need to worry

Branson, keeping a low profile, handed him a menu, looking furious. "Not about _them_ , anyhow."

"What?"

"It's just," Branson was flustered, deciding again against bringing up the expected double-cross. "They know enough, they're going to-"

" _Hey_ ," Larson said. "It's fine. I mean, yeah, they probably do. But they can't _use_ it. And I'll prove it to you."

"Okay, Parker, Hardison, you're clear, go now. Eliot? This might get heavy," Nate warned, as if Eliot needed to be told.

Hardison pretended that the noise in the bar was too much, and gestured towards the back door. Parker turned towards McSweeten, who looked up hopefully but nodded once when she held up a finger.

Eliot watched until they made it out the back door and into the alley, making sure Larson and Branson hadn't seen them, before slipping out through the kitchen and across the bar to follow. Larson's car was in the alley, and Nate was bringing the van around to park it in. The trap was in place, now they just had to bait it.

"Okay," he slid the van's door open and helped Sophie- who'd gone with a red wig that suited her surprisingly well- out onto the ground. Inside, Nate was still monitoring the bugs and cameras they'd installed throughout the restaurant.

"McSweeten's heading for the restroom, Branson's just realizing that Parker and Hardison are missing, and I think the chef's looking for you," he smirked over his shoulder. "He looks _livid_."

"Let him fire me," Eliot shot back. "We good?"

Sophie straightened her dress and headed out of the alley. "We're _very_ good."

Eliot leaned into the open door of the van to watch her progress inside the restaurant. She was in through the door and stopping at the hostess station, gesturing towards the alley.

"I'm not sure if it's anything," she said, her American accent thin and reedy as she gestured to her left, "but I think something is going on in the alley. Some people are arguing with each other, I thought I heard them say something about a trap?"

The hostess- Eliot couldn't remember her name, and spared a thought to wonder if this entire thing with Hardison had flipped some internal switch that killed his radar for impressive curves- nodded, and sent one of the waiters to retrieve the manager, but the bait was already on the hook. There was no way to be certain, from here, if Larson could hear exactly what was being said, but Sophie was expressive enough with her gestures that he was already on his feet.

"Okay. Sally," he leaned in towards Branson, speaking quietly. "You need to get out of here."

"My shift-"

"You're not coming back here after tonight. You won't need to. There's just something I've got to take care of first. Your car's in the parking lot?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Sally. The cash, the accounts, they're all in the safe at the hotel. You know the combination? Good. Clean it out, get to the park, and wait for me. I'll be there in a bit, and we'll blow this town, go wherever you want to go."

Branson finally smiled. It looked like her lapse in trust might have been temporary after all. "Okay, Love you."

"Love you too," Larson said, kissing her on the forehead before heading towards the back of the restaurant.

\---

Eliot had backed off into the shadows, and could see the entire alley from here. The door was up and to his right, just past the dumpsters. Larson's was just in front of him, and the new van- they'd had to borrow it from the Sheriff's Department, since the only rental agency in town wasn't likely to rent to them any time soon- parked behind. Parker and Hardison were standing between the restaurant door and the van.

"Okay. Be ready," Nate was saying. "He's coming out."

The door was opening, and Hardison spun around to look, as if he hadn't been waiting for it.

"Alexander Larson," he shouted. "You're under arrest-"

"Oh, come _off_ it," Larson stepped forward, all bravado and scorn. "You're not real _agents_. You can't arrest _anyone_." He pulled out a gun.

 _Of course_ he pulled out a fucking gun. Trying to decide where best to point it, though, he _hadn't_ noticed the hand that had stopped the door from being shut behind him, hadn't heard McSweeten stepping out after him.

"Actually, we do have the authority." He had his badge out already, holding it up like he'd been waiting for an excuse to use it. _Story of his career_ , Hardison caught himself thinking.

"Right." Some of the confidence fell from Larson's face as he examined the badge, but he'd committed, already, to his course of action. "Fine. Let's say that _you_ are." He spun, swinging the gun around to Parker, finally choosing his target. "It only means that _they're_ playing you."

McSweeten, Hardison and Parker answered in unified disbelief. " _What?_ "

"All this time, I'd _think_ I'd know by now if they were," McSweeten shook his head in amusement. His hand dropped to his side, fingers twitching. From the angle, there was no way that Larson could have noticed, but Eliot did. It was the exact gesture he'd made a few times before, when his hand had been going for a gun, only to come up empty.

 _Good_ , Eliot decided, after a moment's consideration. At least there weren't going to be any surprises.

"Hey, man. Good to see you," Hardison muttered to McSweeten, taking a deliberate step back, his eyes going honestly wide as Larson brought the gun back to aim at him again. That was the signal.

Larson was reading Hardison's body language correctly. He stepped forward, following Hardison, keeping him under control. It also had the effect of angling his body so that he couldn't see Eliot stepping out from behind the dumpster. Parker was staring at McSweeten, honestly worried, but mostly keeping him from glancing over his shoulder.

It was actually fairly easy to slip in and bring the back of his elbow down on Larson's arm, another easy move, too, to disarm him, send the gun skittering across the ground.

This is where it should have ended. But that wasn't the plan.

\---

Alec hadn't been surprised when Nate called the backup plan into play, and he was closest, anyway.

He went for the gun as Parker dodged back behind the vehicles, catching it when he slid it towards her underneath Larson's car. He could just make out her actions as she removed the clip, emptied the magazine and cleared the chamber before coming to her feet again. Seconds later, from underneath the van this time, the gun slid back out from between the tires.

Eliot was pretending not to notice it, and McSweeten honestly _didn't_. He was too focused on the fight, hovering on the sidelines and waiting for his chance, but they were moving too fast, too wildly, for him to jump in.

Eliot was gaining the upper hand, though, and Larson, predictably, was searching out anything, any weapon within reach. He zeroed in on the gun after a few moments, and obviously wanted it badly enough that when he managed to dislodge Eliot, it was with enough force that Alec doubted Eliot had simply allowed him to do so.

Eliot backed off when he noticed the gun, brushing hair and grit off of his face and pretending to be slightly punch-drunk.

And this was where it was going to get tricky. Because McSweeten was moving in, and Alec needed to get there _first_.

"Come on, Larson," Alec teased. "You know this can't end well for you. Stop resisting."

"I'm not resisting _anything, Hardison_."

"Seriously?" Alec rolled his eyes and shouted at Parker, deliberately overconfident. "Remind me to find out how my cover got burned. Think we might have a leak in the department." He turned back to Larson and smirked, hands going into his pockets. "Hell, I bet that thing ain't even _loaded_ -"

The impact, when Larson shot him, sent him flying into the van.

\----

Hardison had taken a shot to the chest.

He'd known it was coming.

But it wasn't helping. Hardison was lying on the ground, not moving as the blood spread out over his shirt, and suddenly, Eliot couldn't track anything else.

He launched himself again at Larson, punching him in the face, feeling the crush of cartilage under his knuckles, before throwing him against the dumpster.

Larson stumbled, but still had enough control to drag Eliot down with him as he bounced off the dumpster, getting Eliot with enough force in the chest that the wind was knocked out of him, that he had to grapple to get a hold on Larson again.

Eliot was pinned under Larson's weight, and the arm barred over his throat was distracting, but he managed to get a hand up, grab Larson's jaw, and was pulling and pushing and twisting, _hard_.

If he jerked to the left, he could break his jaw, easily. If he went far and fast enough, he could snap his _neck_ like this.

He _could_ , if he wanted to. And honestly, he kind of did.

But Hardison would never look at him square again. None of them would.

It just wasn't worth it.

And anyway, there were other bodies here, now, grabbing his arms, wrenching them back. His left hand was ground into the concrete.

" _Knock it off_ ," McSweeten was ordering, putting weight on Eliot's bad shoulder as Larson was finally shifted off of him. When Eliot managed to get a look, it was hard to tell if it was Nate's efforts that had caused it, or if the gun McSweeten was pointing in Larson's direction had been the motivation.

Nate was back again, and Eliot forced himself to stop fighting, to sop trying to move at all. Above him, Nate and McSweeten exchanged a look before McSweeten relented, getting up again, his full attention now on Larson.

Nate was shaking his head, and he nodded off to the side. "Look, okay? Just look. And _listen_."

He could see Hardison in the back of the open van. Parker holding her hand over his chest, and Sophie was sliding the door shut before rushing around to the driver's seat.

As soon as her door was shut, she sighed. "Okay, Hardison. You can take off the blood packs, clean yourself up. And hold on to something back there, this has to look good."

"Eliot?" Hardison's voice was aware and concerned, and mostly a complete _relief_.

"I'm fine," Eliot replied, brushing his hands on his knees and standing up.

"He's an _idiot_ , is what he is," Nate grumbled.

And yeah, he deserved that. He'd _known_ how plan M worked for years. He'd taped the blood packs onto Hardison's vest _himself_ , he'd just-

"At least you sold the part, right?" Nate quirked a brow at him, but his attention was already shifting away.

McSweeten had Larson pinned to the side of his car, already cuffed, and was reading him his rights. Larson, barely conscious, was clearly in no condition to object, and offered no resistance when the agent got him settled down on the ground.

"So," he said to Nate, stepping back and gesturing towards where the van had been. "Agent Thomas. He's going to be okay?"

"All our field agents are fully trained in emergency medical procedures, and Agent Hagen, is the best we've got. They've got their route cleared and are less than two minutes out from the emergency room."

McSweeten looked suitably impressed, and Nate stretched his neck to the side and back again before speaking again. "So. Listen. I would appreciate it if my department's part in tonight's activities were to go down silently. You've got enough on Larson for the firearms possession- and, say, firing it in public area- for the collar. Anything else you pull up on him will just be icing."

McSweeten, still watching Larson, was dubious. "So the fact he shot one of your agents counts for nothing?"

"Look," Nate said, with the manner of someone who's seen a thousand worse fights. "I know why you were here, and I know what Agent Hagen was doing. But she shouldn't have come here tonight, and she shouldn't have talked to you. She put the operation at risk, and if it gets out, it's eighteen months of work that's going down the tubes, _along_ with her career."

McSweeten's eyes widened in horror, and Nate relented. "She's a good agent, though, very promising. She could go far, if she wanted to, and I think you know this. So I'm willing to overlook her little indiscretion. If this never happened, I can't fire her over it."

McSweeten considered, his eyes still on Larson, who was groaning as he rocked his head back against the car door. After a moment he gave Nate a sidelong glance. "She's not really with the FBI, is she? None of you are."

"Think of us as inter-agency liaisons," Nate replied, cryptically. "This country needs all sorts of protection, and the government needs grunts working quietly in the shadows, just as much as it needs the heroes working out in the open." He nodded, then, making sure McSweeten understood the compliment.

It seemed to do the trick. McSweeten took it and moved on. "So now what?"

"Now? We disappear. You take Larson in, and-" Nate's hand went up to his earpiece, which he didn't bother hiding from McSweeten, and listened as Tara, who'd tailed Branson, rattled off the location. "My advice? It seems his partner's just been seen driving into Margaret T. Hance Park. It's public land, and she looks like she may be in need of assistance. It's dark out, after all. No telling what kind of trouble she's gotten herself into."

\---

Alec had managed to tear his stitches in the fight, so they really _had_ wound up at the hospital, but right now, that wasn't what Alec was worrying about.

Eliot had nearly _lost_ it back there.

Given that, it was actually nice to have the distraction of being sewn back together, even if he _could_ still here the others on the line, already debriefing.

Because of that, he wasn't surprised to see them all waiting for him- Even Tara was here- when he finally came out into the waiting room. Nate and Tara were both on their phones, but they brightened considerably when he arrived.

Sophie kissed him on the cheek, and Parker wrapped him in an almost painful hug.

"Seriously? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but isn't this a little overkill? It ain't like I got _shot_."

Over Parker's shoulder, Eliot was glaring at him. "Yeah, well." He shrugged, not knowing where to go from there, and once Parker moved away, wrapped an arm around Alec's back quickly, just for a second. _For morale_. He looked twice as awkward when he pulled away, but Nate was coughing for their attention.

"Okay," he said. "Hardison? You're good?"

"Yeah. Where are we?"

"Larson and Branson have both been arrested. Seems like Branson's earlier misgivings are resurfacing, and McSweeten and Taggart are playing them off of each other like crazy. They'll probably have everything by midnight."

Tara was just ending her call. "I just talked to Santiago's lawyer, gave him the heads up on the situation. He's already going in to push for her release. And, well, he was already thinking _lawsuit_ before I even mentioned it, so, yeah. We're good." She stood up, grabbing her purse and coming over to hug Hardison as well, before turning to the others. "So unless there's anything else?"

Sophie shook her head, but Nate looked skeptical.

"Aren't you supposed to be asking about your payment?"

"Oh, I don't know. It seems a bit crass, given what I managed to get out of Branson's car when she was clearing out the safe. I mean, ten grand may be excessive, but I wasn't sure you'd gone enough, getting her to distrust Larson, so…" She grinned, extremely pleased with herself.

Nate finally smirked, rolled his eyes, and waved her off. "Just _go_ , already. And thanks for everything."

Alec waved, as did Eliot, and Sophie volunteered herself and Parker to walk Tara out. It was obvious she was giving them space. And Alec, dread already pooling in his gut, could guess why.

As soon as they were gone, Nate turned to look at Eliot, considering him for a long moment. The expression on his face made Alec want to run to join Sophie and the others, but movement would only draw Nate's attention.

Eliot wasn't looking too thrilled about it either, but he was holding the stare, arms crossed defiantly.

Eventually Nate nodded to himself, having decided on an approach. "You good?"

"Yeah." Eliot frowned, apparently not expecting the question but knowing that wasn't the end of it. "I did my job, you know."

"Your _job_ was to set McSweeten up to be the hero," he said, raising a hand when Eliot tried to cut in. "And yes, I know that, _technically_ , it worked. But don't you think you went a bit, ah, overboard?"

Eliot shrugged, his scowl deepening. "Had to make sure it looked good."

Nate snorted. "Don't bullshit me, Eliot. You overreacted when your boyfriend got shot with a _blank_."

"I never liked Plan M," Alec muttered, mostly to distract himself from the elephant that just crashed into the room, but he only earned glares from both of them. "What?"

"Hardison," Nate sighed, but maybe it had been the right track to take, spreading Nate's irritation around a little. There was a smirk hovering around the edges of Eliot's mouth, though it was gone by the time Nate was frowning at him again.

"You could've killed Larson tonight," Nate eventually said.

"Yeah. But I didn't."

"Would you have, though? If we hadn't stepped in?"

"Yes." Eliot's lip curled humorlessly. "Seriously, Nate. If I'd _meant_ to kill him, do you think you and McSweeten could've stopped me? If you were so worried I was gonna snap, you would've made sure Larson wasn't handcuffed on the ground six feet from where I was standing."

"So you're saying I should've _protected_ him?" Nate smirked back, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm _saying_ you shouldn't come down all high and mighty for telling me to stand down when I'd already _stopped_."

Nate, to his credit, thought about it for a minute before nodding, some of the anger leaving his face.

"Right," he said, his tone just verging on apologetic. "Well. It's been a crappy month. We're _all_ on stand down for a few weeks, at least, so… next time?"

It was a peace offering, and Alec knew it. What mattered, though, was if Eliot did.

"You won't need to worry about it," he eventually decided, and though tensions were still running a big high, Alec heaved a sigh of relief.

"Okay, cool," he said, figuring that distraction had served them well so far. "Now do y'all need to hug it out, here, or can we bail on this tired-ass waiting room?"

Nate rolled his eyes before shaking his head and heading for the door, but Eliot caught Alec's arm before he could follow.

"I wasn't worried at all," Eliot said, though he seemed to have forgotten most of his earlier bravado.

"Of course you weren't," Alec agreed, tilting his head to get a better read on Eliot's face, becoming slowly certain that yet another shoe was about to drop. "So what's up?"

"Look. I know what I said to Nate, but I know I went overboard, and so." He frowned, looking a little apologetic. "I gotta ask. Are you still thinking about leaving?"

"No," Alec adjusted his grip on Eliot's arm, congratulating himself on not having to think about it, but Eliot still looked like he was waiting for something. "More like, wondering about where this is all going, I guess."

Eliot was trying to keep his sudden smirk from becoming a smile, still trying to play it cool. "Wherever you want."

"Alright, then. Back home. We go on a date. Friday night, and we do it up right. _Normal_ even, no guns, no thugs, no _nothing_."

"Sounds good," Eliot laughed. "So. Dinner and a movie?"

Alec shrugged, kissed him real quick to seal the deal. "Yeah, well. It can't _all_ be rest stops and emergency rooms."


	17. Epilogue

What the hell was he thinking?

It was nearly six, and Nate had said they'd be done an hour ago, but _finally_ , they were winding up.

Santiago had been released and reinstated, with a large bonus for her troubles. The cash looked like some bargain they'd struck up to deflect her lawyers, but that hadn't been the important part.

She had also, partially due to recommendations from Agents Taggart and McSweeten, been installed as the point person in charge of cleaning up the county jail. Her first day back on the job had been today, and her first order of business had been to put the call out for lawyers and law enforcement personnel to start reviewing the cases of every single inmate. McTeague, one of the guards working the block, had been named Interim Warden to help her out. Half of Tent City would be emptied by Monday, and it would probably be shut down entirely within a few weeks.

For the moment at least, Arlington, Miller and Branson were all occupying isolated cells inside the jail, but Larson, whose name had sent up all sorts of international red flags that would take months to sort out, was being transferred to Virginia.

Arlington's murder trial was set for next month, and Miller and Branson were up on enough charges- conspiracy, tampering with evidence, abetting in a kidnapping, possession of firearms and attacking law enforcement officers, to name a few- that they'd be bouncing between jail cells and courtrooms for years.

And that was all well and good, but the clock was ticking, Eliot was getting tired of the glances Sophie and Nate kept shooting him and Hardison, and they had reservations for six thirty.

"So, are we done here?" Hardison's leg had been bouncing underneath the table for the past half hour, and he'd been growing increasingly short with everyone. Even Parker was starting to pick up on it, though it was probably because he'd inadvertently kicked her three or four times now.

"Yes, yes," Nate finally relented, waving them off. "You're all free to go."

Parker was already out the door, muttering something about a bowling alley under her breath, leaving Sophie gaping after her, trying to retroactively plot her trajectory. By the time Eliot was grabbing his jacket off the back of the couch, though, Nate had recovered enough to sidle up to him, his voice conspiratorial and _far_ too amused.

"I don't know whether to tell you that I don't want to see you all for three weeks, or to have him home by midnight," he smirked.

"Shut up," Eliot growled, glancing at Sophie, who, going by the mortified expression on Hardison's face, was giving him the same speech.

And maybe they were both just so relieved to be _out_ of there, that it didn't get awkward until they'd arrived at the restaurant. As they walked up, Alec examined at the sign warily.

"This is the place?"

"Yeah," Eliot said, ignoring the misgivings that had slowly started creeping up on him, and opening the door.

It had just opened up last month. Lots of polished steel reflecting lots of colored lights, art on the wall on loan from some local gallery. Half of the wait staff had tattoos, making their otherwise stuffy uniforms look far trendier than they probably were. The wine rack took up the entire back wall of the place, and Hardison was staring at it warily.

"It looks…" he caught himself, once they were seated, and put his hands up before Eliot could call him on it. "Hey, man, no worries. I _trust_ you."

It didn't mean anything more than what it was. He was just talking about the restaurant, and he might've been half-kidding. Eliot shrugged it off. He'd wanted to check this place out for weeks, now. He didn't like it, there'd be popcorn at the theater. And that stupid feeling in his chest that kept coming back at the weirdest times could just _fuck off_.

\---

Deciding that the wine list looked _way_ over his head, Alec looked at the menu instead. And he laughed.

This place had everything. Weird-ass French stuff that Eliot probably liked, hot dogs, steaks, tacos, and a grilled cheese sandwich that looked amazing, even if he only knew what two of the ingredients were. There was also a beer list.

"This place serves 40's?"

Eliot nodded at the table next to them, where a group of six twenty-somethings was hanging out. Two champagne buckets filled with ice were on the table between them. One of them had wine of some sort, but the other had a screw top.

"Don't get your hopes up," Eliot smirked, his eyes returning to the wine list.

"Why, we're gonna be civilized? Is that it?"

"Check out the ribs on page four."

"That…does not look at _all_ civilized," Alec admitted, sparing an apologetic thought for the shirt he'd never admit to buying just for tonight, already knowing that he wouldn't even _want_ the stains to come out. "That's just _porn_."

Eliot was beaming, winking at him as he ordered some ridiculous sounding wine.

That might've been porn, too.

\---

After a few glasses of wine, Hardison started flirting. What was surprising was that Eliot didn't mind, that he kept catching himself egging him on, showing off. Teasing him back.

It wasn't until they were halfway through eating, and Hardison was telling him about the hack that had gotten him kicked out of college three semesters in, that Eliot realized how surreal this actually _was_.

Because it was _Hardison_. The same guy he'd always been, but.

He talked more freely about his life than anyone Eliot had spoken to in a decade, and already knew about the shitty things Eliot had done and was still sitting there, across the table, leaning in and listening, not because he was gathering intel but because he actually wanted to _hear_ it.

And he could make him laugh his ass off, too.

And he kept shooting him these _looks_.

They were enough that he kind of wanted to skip the movie and move right on to _after_. Because as well as this was going, he wasn't sure, yet, _where_ it was going, and the impatience, the need to _find out_ was gnawing at him. Right now, he didn't think he could concentrate on anything besides the way his shoulders filled out his shirt, and how they had to look underneath it.

But he'd chosen the restaurant, and Hardison had picked out the movie. That had been the deal.

"What time does the movie start?" he asked, once the waitress came back to try conning them into dessert.

"About twenty minutes," Hardison said, looking regretfully at the menu she'd handed him before glancing up. "But you know, with traffic and all…"

Eliot could see where this was going. He felt warm. "And it being a Friday night…"

"On opening weekend. We'd miss the previews anyway."

"Which is half the point," Eliot agreed, though Hardison's fascination with watching ads was something he didn't really get.

"Exactly. And I don't know _what_ this is," Hardison addressed the smirking waitress and pointed out something on the menu, "but I'm fairly sure I _need_ it." His finger moved again, stabbing the page. "And _he_ needs _this_."

\---

"So, rain check on the movie?" Alec asked, once Eliot had pulled the car into traffic.

"Definitely," Eliot merged into the next lane, already heading in the direction of Alec's apartment. Alec's _very clean_ apartment, the one he'd spent the week dusting and vacuuming. On the off chance. In case Eliot wanted to-

"When do you want to go?" Eliot's eyes were on the road, giving nothing away. It looked deliberate, though, and there was this smirk hovering in the corner of his mouth that Alec couldn't stop staring at.

They were already less than a mile away.

"There's got to be a matinee tomorrow sometime," Alec took a breath, reconsidered, and continued on anyway. "We could catch an early show after breakfast or something."

 _There._ It was out there, as plain as he could make it.

\---

Hardison had been playing it cool, all week, same as him, like they'd agreed to this- _all_ of this- four days ago in a Phoenix emergency room, and the rest was just details: the awkward pauses that hadn't happened over dinner, the minor spikes of nerves that _had_ , the few last minute chances to back out.

They weren't anything Eliot couldn't handle, as long as Hardison could, but the waiting was going to _kill_ him.

"You want the ten cent tour?" Hardison offered, once they were standing inside his apartment. He didn't look particularly interested in his surroundings at the moment, though, not with the way his eyes kept wandering south.

"Long as it ends up in the bedroom."

"Thank _god_ ," he said, and one increasingly handsy living room, kitchen, bathroom, and office-that-looked-more-like-a-toy-store later, Eliot had hips pressed into his own, hands in his hair, and Hardison's mouth crushing into his.

He still tasted like chocolate and raspberries and wine, and Eliot wondered if he'd planned it that way. His teeth were smooth and slick, and he hummed when Eliot moved on along his jaw, down to his neck.

 _Fuck_ , he smelled good, and his hands were already stroking up under his shirt, light enough to tease, scratching at his sides, and when Eliot crowded him back against the wall, there was no hiding how hard either of them were.

One last time, just to be sure. He leaned back from the waist up, just enough to see his face. "We on the same page here?"

"Seriously?" Hardison laughed, breathing rough as his hands slid down to Eliot's ass, dragging him in again. "Get back here."

\---

He'd been thinking about it for days, now, how this would go.

He'd thought they'd at least get their clothes off, the first time. Probably. But his jeans were too tight to come off easily, Eliot's weren't much better, and neither of them were really in the frame of mind to concentrate on them longer than they absolutely _had_ to.

Eliot still had him pressed against the wall, but when Alec shoved his hand down and in between them, curving over his cock for the first time, the pinning became suddenly less about keeping Alec in place and more about keeping Eliot standing.

His own arm was in the way when Eliot snaked his hand in to wrap around him, squeezing experimentally, and yeah, Alec's kissing might've gotten a bit sloppy at that point, but Eliot was breathing hard into his mouth, his belly pressed against his own where their shirts had gotten rucked up, and they were stumbling into _some_ kind of rhythm, here, so he went with it. Or tried to.

Eliot had found a better angle, could move more freely, and it was all Alec could do to keep up, awkward as it was. He wanted to know if Eliot was as big as he felt under his hand. Wider, to be sure, and hot to the touch as Alec spread the slickness down from the tip.

 _Damn_ , but he wanted to taste it. He rocked to the side, leaning Eliot up against the wall before pinning him there with his free hand, letting him get his legs underneath him again.

"You stay here," he said against Eliot's temple, before dropping- a little too hardly- to his knees.

Eliot's chest was heaving, but he seemed frozen to the spot, his hands clutched at his sides, fists against the wall, fingers just starting to twitch. His jeans were halfway down his thighs, and Alec shoved them down a bit more in a halfhearted attempt to get them out of the way. Eliot's cock was dark pink, almost red, thick as he'd imagined and curved- just slightly- to the left.

He stroked the full length of it for the first time, grasping it in one hand as he repositioned himself. It twitched against his lips when he dragged his tongue up the length, licking experimentally.

" _Fuck_ ," Eliot's hands were suddenly on his shoulders, thumb stroking against the side of his neck as he opened wide, took it in, pulling back when he went too far too fast, nearly gagging. Breathing through his nose, he dragged his tongue all over it, tasted salt. Pulling back, he tightened before nodding forward again, stroking the length that he couldn't get in his mouth, spreading the wetness.

And back and again and again, sometimes faster, sometimes slower, sometimes rougher, sometimes just ghosting, which was honestly easiest. Eliot's stomach was tight, his mouth open as he stared back down, silent and possibly unseeing. Alec sped up again, just a bit, wanting to see how it registered, if Eliot's eyes could go even _wider_ than they were, and he laved the crown with his tongue as it slid past again. It was Alec's hands dragging up Eliot's thigh, though, his fingers brushing against his balls, that caused his eyes to slam shut.

Eliot tensed, jerking forward just a bit before pulling back sharply.

Alec repressed the urge to cough, tightening his grip just a bit and thrusting his fist over Eliot's cock, fast now, fast enough that Eliot wasn't even _breathing_ any more, and then Eliot was coming, shooting over his collarbone and chest, legs locked straight and immobile, still completely silent.

\---

Eliot gasped, still trying to catch his breath as he balanced against Hardison's shoulder, easing down until they were both lying on the floor. Hardison tried avoiding his mouth at first, but Eliot was insistent, he wanted that _mouth_ , even wanted the _taste_.

He didn't stop kissing Hardison as his hand trailed down, setting up a slick easy pace for the moment, just until he could catch his breath enough to actually go down on him. But Alec was close, already, his hips jerking up off the floor as he moaned into Eliot's mouth. His hands scrambling against his chest, grabbing at his shoulders, arms, anything within reach.

" _Harder_ , I'm gonna-"

Eliot obliged, tightening his grip and increasing the pace. He kind of wanted to turn, to watch Hardison's dick spill all over his hand, but he wasn't able to tear his gaze look away. Hardison's eyes were squeezed shut, and his groans were hitching at all these gorgeous places-

And _fuck_ , Eliot's name, all broken and breathy like that? Caught him in the chest, sharper than any knife.

\---

"Last chance," Alec said, throwing the covers back for the third time and kneeling on the bed. They'd already made one distracted trip to the bathroom to clean up before he'd had realized that he'd left the front door unlocked, and then they'd both needed water. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Eliot shoved him down and climbed in after him, his leg sliding in between Alec's, and it was obvious that they were far from done for the night, but there was no need to rush, now.

"I'm not speaking," Eliot smirked, kissing his jaw, settling against him more comfortably.

And yeah, put that way, well. Forever seemed like something worth aiming for.

\---

 _The End._


End file.
